Rosebud
by Arabella's
Summary: Millionaire Edward fell quickly for small town Bella, and their dreamy romance soon led to wedding bells. When their new marriage is about to fall apart, Bella goes missing. Edward is determined to search for her, but does Bella want to be found? AU-Human
1. Chapter 1

Hello there. This story flits around in time à la _500 Days of Summer_. But I'll do my best to not make you dizzy. Edward and Bella will alternate POVs.

Speaking of movies...

The story's title comes from _Citizen Kane_, and there will often be quotes at the top of the chapters from the movie. You don't need to have seen it to read this, but you should watch it anyway if you haven't yet because it's pretty cool ;) While my plot is quite different, the quotes will show the character similarities.

I don't own Twilight or _Citizen Kane_. No copyright infringement intended.

Last but not least, I'm also on Twilighted under the name Arabella_ if you prefer to read there.

* * *

**"When Charles Foster Kane died, he said just one word: Rosebud. Just that one word, but who is she...What was it? Here's a man that could have been president, who was as loved and hated and as talked about as any man in our time. But when he comes to die, he's got something on his mind called 'Rosebud.' Now, what does that mean?"**

* * *

**Tuesday. July 20, 2010**

_Thank you, Steve...In more somber news, the wife of prominent millionaire Edward Cullen has been reported missing. Twenty-year-old Isabella Cullen was last seen at the couple's Seattle estate on Saturday night._

_An anonymous source with ties to Isabella told us that marital problems and even talks of divorce had recently been going on between the newlyweds. However, our source stressed that it was not _Isabella _Cullen who initiated these talks. What is most alarming is the fact that no luggage or possessions seem to have been taken from the house upon Isabella's departure. Only her black Audi convertible is missing. Police are trying to determine whether heartbreak is the cause of the sudden fleeing, or if something more sinister is at work. If anyone is aware of Isabella's whereabouts, please call police or Channel -_

I flick off the TV, carelessly sliding the remote across the hardwood floor.

My disheveled hair is pulled roughly as one thought repeats inside my pounding head.

_Oh, my Isabella...where are you?_

* * *

**Saturday. July 17, 2010**

_**Bella**_

I glance around the small room I've been summoned to.

The furniture is like the furniture in Edward's office, which I've never cared for. It's all hardwood. Big, bulky, tall and dark. There is a half-size box of tissues on the coffee table that separates four oversized armchairs. The pastel box looks incredibly foreign, sitting alone there on the stark wood.

The perfection beside me crosses her ankles daintily. I forget her name. She's my lawyer, I have been told.

_Why are lawyers necessary at this point, so early in the game, anyway?_ _Can he not even talk to me anymore?_

Edward's hot-shot, middle aged attorney is plump with a very expensive suit. I shall call him Donald. He looks like a Donald.

With detached interest, I realize that he's about to speak.

"Well then, let's get started. We thought it would be fair to split the bank accounts and stocks but to relinquish any owned companies to Mr. Cullen. Isabella can choose to keep the Seattle high-rise or the house. The vacation homes in Prague and Nice are also up for debate, but Prague is currently being used by a family friend of Mr. Cullen, so he asks that they be allowed to stay there for the rest of the summer."

I blink, finding the latter statement ridiculous. I've never even seen the vacation home in Prague. Most the time, I forget it's there.

My lawyer looks surprised. "That actually sounds quite reasona-"

"I don't want it," I interrupt quietly. My tone is soft and dead at the core...like me.

I don't dare look toward _his_ side of the room, instead focusing on my blond, far-too-good-looking representative. She looks puzzled and a little reprimanding. "Would you rather-"

"I don't want anything."

Silence fills the room, except for a soft, unmistakable gasp from the other side. Lawyer Barbie is aghast. Wide gray-blue eyes, mouth hanging open...

She's looking at me like she wants to send me back to Gold Diggers 101, since I obviously failed the first time. She clearly has no time or desire to teach me the error of my ways, herself. She's got a jet ski to pay off. She's got _references_. And teaching really isn't as rewarding as it seems.

I chance a glance over the coffee table divide, avoiding the face that haunts me in both slumber and consciousness. Donald is huffing like he's in a marathon, looking personally affronted at his own uselessness. Maybe we kept him from his affair tonight.

"Sorry," I lie as I stand to leave. This isn't my fault, after all. If Edward had just talked to me, he would have known. But instead, he assumed. Assumed that half of all of his worldly possessions would soothe my shattered heart. Assumed that the small town waitress would be gleeful that she got so much money out of such a short marriage.

He assumed. And that's what hurts the most.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Most of this story (the marriage, the disappearance, etc.) happens in 2010, but there will be some older background chapters like this. Edward got carried away with the details, so this one is all him. While you read, keep in mind that my characters are not perfect. Edward, especially, has some growing to do. To those wondering: Edward is in his mid 20s; Bella is 20 even.

And I forgot to mention earlier: This story is rated mostly for language, but there is some sexuality as well. I don't think it will scare anyone off unless they are under the age of 16. Though in that case, you shouldn't be reading M fiction anyway, right?

* * *

**"A fellow will remember a lot of things you wouldn't think he'd remember. You take me. One day back in 1896, I was crossing over to Jersey on the ferry, and as we pulled out, there was another ferry pulling in, and on it there was a girl waiting to get off. A white dress she had on. She was carrying a white parasol. I only saw her for one second. She didn't see me at all. But I'll bet a month hasn't gone by since that I haven't thought of that girl."**

- Mr. Bernstein

* * *

**November 22, 2009**

_**Edward**_

I duck into the local diner, out of the slight drizzle that's neither rain nor snow. Starbucks or not, if I'm going to visit my brother and his growing family, I'm _going_ to need caffeine.

There isn't any waitress or hostess in sight, so I seat myself at a square table that already displays a beat-up menu.

_I wonder if they'll know how to make a latte._

When I look up, I see a brown-haired waitress weaving easily though the small spaces between tables, as if she's been doing it for years.

All thoughts of steamed milk and cinnamon dispensers escape my mind.

Her pale skirt is short enough that just a bit of material peaks out from under the pastel, floral apron. Red slip-on Keds are on her dainty little feet, and the casual outfit might just be the sexiest thing I've ever seen. When she turns in my direction, I see that her face is unique and beautiful, but definitely not strange.

The brunette angel produces a pen from behind her ear as she approaches, and while it is incredibly cliché, it's also endearing.

"Hi, I'm Isabella..." She pauses and winces as if she's said the wrong thing. _Curious._ "What can I get for you today?"

"Just black coffee for now, thanks." I berate myself as soon as the words leave my mouth in a rush. There's no way I'll drink that, but I spoke without thinking. She smiles, making the mistake worth it.

"I'll bring that right out."

I glance around while I wait, my fingers playing with the frayed lamination on the menu's corners. The diner is actually pretty charming, in an understated kind of way. A few locals unabashedly gawk at me, the outsider, but I don't mind. They seem to be a natural part of the environment; it's only fair that they stare back.

I turn my attention away from an especially curious man when Isabella returns. Her high ponytail bounces as she proudly sets the mug and coffee dish in front of me.

She's so sweet, innocent, untainted, and the ungentlemanly side of me wants to rectify the latter two adjectives immediately.

I look up at her youthful face, unwilling to part with her just yet.

"Sit with me," I ask, though it's not really a question. Her brown eyes widen in surprise before she gives me a slight smile.

"I can't while I'm working. My boss will get mad."

"Just for a minute?" I implore innocently.

"I really can't. Sorry. Can I get you anything else?" Her smile is now forced.

I'm about to speak before an uneasy feeling grips me, the unfamiliar phenomenon travelling all the way to my toes. I think I may be having a stroke until I figure out what it is.

_Rejection._ I've read about that.

I'm not sure whether to laugh or be angry. I must decide on the latter, because she takes one look at my expression and then scampers off. I sigh. She's a frightened doe, and I'm the hunter, I realize with gloom. I've never found a problem with that before now.

I sullenly stare down at the depths of my dull coffee. _This is definitely not a latte._

Reminding myself that I have much better things to look at, I study Isabella religiously as she takes breakfast orders from the other tables. On the way to the kitchen, she sneaks a look at me over her shoulder before she blushes and turns away. Adorable.

Unfortunately, it becomes clear that Isabella finds _me_ less than charming. She avoids my table for the next twenty minutes - a miraculous feat in such a small restaurant - except once when she asks if I would like any food. I say no. She gives me my bill on the spot.

I sigh. I know I can't stay here all day like a creeper, though the thought is tempting.

_But how do I get her to talk to me?_

An idea pops into my lovesick head that may be just preposterous enough to work.

I quickly slip several hundreds underneath an inconspicuous one-dollar bill, pairing the stack with my check before I leave. I know she might just keep it and never talk to me again, but I'm still hopeful. I throw a last glance at my untouched coffee, surprised at how energetic I am without it.

I walk away from the diner until I'm standing by the bench outside, in clear view of the window front. It's cold. I feel ridiculous. I feel giddy. I just...feel. And that feels amazing, in and of itself.

Isabella picks up the tip, and I can see her eyes widen from here. She instinctively looks up at the window, panicked, until her face turns angry. Oh yeah. She sees me.

The diner door dings its bell, announcing the impending boxing match. Isabella storms toward the bench, making quick work of the dozen strides between us. She's just in her cute skirt and tank top, and I feel a frisson of guilt.

"I can't accept this - and you only ordered coffee!" she stammers in greeting.

Her arms flail for effect, and I can feel the eyes of the patrons as they watch our show. If we're lucky, we might even make the paper.

I gaze at her uncovered skin for a moment too long.

"You don't have a coat." I frown disapprovingly. She rolls her eyes at my topic change.

"Yes, well, take your money so I can go back inside."

"I'll take it back if I can have your phone number," I hedge. It seems like a good thing to say at the time.

"You are infuriating!"

_Or not._

"Please?" I implore, trying to show all my long-hidden sincerity. I don't have her, but I can't lose her.

"This isn't a normal way to gain someone's affections, you know," she scolds, her tone lacking any bite.

"I know. I just...I don't do this," I explain awkwardly, apologetically. I'm really not used to trying so hard. I've never even wanted to.

"Fine," she huffs, holding her hand out for my iPhone. My lips curve up as I fruitlessly try to hold back my victorious smile.

When she's finished, my fingers ghost over her ocher-painted nails as I retrieve the money and phone. In turn, I give her a more appropriate five-dollar bill for the awful coffee.

"Thank you, Isabella. I'm Edward, by the way."

A nod. "Well, I should probably go inside."

"Yes. I don't want you to get in trouble."

We both pause for a long moment. The wind is whipping at my neck. The silence is growing uncomfortable. I can smell the incoming slush in the air.

But I'd stand here all day if she would.

She hesitates and rubs her forearms, giving me a wary look. "I'd say it's been a pleasure, but it's actually been very strange...and cold."

I chuckle, despite her serious expression. She has a point.

"I'll call you." It's a promise, or maybe more of a warning. I know she hasn't given me a fake phone number. Her expression is not calculating, and she's too kind to do such a thing.

She nods before turning toward the door, and I have to fight the irrational inclination to snatch her up and hide her away from this ugly world.

I calm slightly when I remember that I'll see her again. I wonder how soon I should call, what we should do. Date possibilities are running through my head, each seeming lamer than the last.

My phone chirps from my pocket, successfully breaking the spell I've fallen under. _Fucking Russians and their failed business ventures._

"Hello," I greet sulkily as I peek at Isabella through the glass. She catches me, but luckily she smiles instead of calling the cops. _Is that a blush?_

I wave like we're in high school and she's my girl.

Then I force my body to turn away before I can embarrass myself further.

_Isabella_, I muse on the way to my car.

Maybe Forks isn't so bad after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

Thanks for your reviews!

I apologize in advance to the Seattle PD... xoxo

* * *

**"I don't know many people."  
"I know too many people. I guess we're both lonely."**

- Susan & Kane

* * *

**December 6, 2009**

_**Bella**_

I tug on my hat, making sure it covers my ears. Edward is politely looking away, focusing on something imaginary in my foyer. He's dressed in almost all black, with the exception of his gray wool coat. Even completely bundled up, he's just as gorgeous.

I sneak covert glances, still giddy about the fact that he called. After the first week, I was sure he wouldn't.

"So, I was thinking we could walk to the downtown bakery and see some Christmas lights on the way. Mrs. Cope lives above the shop, so it's open late."

I await his reply with shallow breaths. It's not a very exciting plan, but it's the best I could come up with if I don't want to eat at the diner on my day off.

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, and I wonder if he already made plans of his own. Maybe he intended to take me to Port Angeles since there isn't much here.

He smiles easily after the delay, looking no worse for wear, so I don't pursue the thought.

"That sounds good."

I smile back and grab my set of keys from the hook near the door. It wouldn't be very wise to use the eave key in front of him.

"We won't see any lights for a little while, but the stretch about halfway to the diner is pretty impressive," I explain as we walk outside, hoping to fill the silence. I'm glad to see that dusk is still present. We'll be able to see the lights _and_ I'll hopefully spot a stick before I trip on it. This a marvelous time of day, just for that reason alone.

Edward nods and sticks his hands into his coat pockets.

"So, is this what people do in a small town?" He sounds genuinely intrigued, as if Forks is an equation to be worked out.

"I don't know what people do." A blush immediately invades my face at the admittance of such naivety. "This is just what my dad and I did every year."

Sharp twinges of sadness sweep through me as I think of Thanksgiving a week and a half ago, his untouched room... I've definitely got empty nest syndrome, in a reversed kind of way.

"How long has it been?" His voice is soft and hesitant, but not pitying.

"Almost a year," I respond, grateful that he has deducted the gist of the situation on his own.

We walk in silence for half a minute, and I'm really hoping he's not mustering the courage to ask about Charlie.

I nervously glance at Edward, causing our eyes to lock when he catches me. The fact that I can't seem to look away isn't doing great things to my odds of staying upright.

When Edward finally speaks, his unexpected words come out in a rush - as if he's unable to contain them a moment longer.

"I'm sorry that I took so long to call. I was only able to get away from Seattle that one day, and I didn't know if I was supposed to call that soon. If you subscribed to any 'rules,' you know. And I haven't been able to come up here since."

"Rules?" I ask, confused and slightly dazzled by his intense gaze. He looks away.

"Yeah, dating rules, you know? They're similar to all girl rules, I suppose. Like those shoes matching your - or not kissing on the -" He shakes his head dismissively, and I have the pleasure of seeing his rosy cheeks for the first time.

Edward glances at me, surely seeing the fond bewilderment on my face.

"Never mind. I'm just...sorry."

"It's okay," I appease easily. Prolonging his embarrassment wouldn't be very nice, even if it is endearing to watch.

"I don't follow any rules, Edward. Except the law, of course. Police chief's daughter, after all," I smirk. Edward chuckles and takes a deep breath. He's trying to relax, I think.

I have no idea why he's so keyed up. It's just...me.

"So what do you do, anyway?" I ask casually, hoping to bring him to comfortable, familiar territory. Plus, I'm rather curious. I know he must be wealthy if his previous tip is anything to go by. Wealthy and...young.

"I buy struggling companies, fix them up, and then sell them for a profit. Sometimes, I keep them."

_Oh._ "That probably sounds a lot easier than it actually is," I guess conversationally.

"I suppose. It takes some time, but as long as you have enough start-up money, you're fine. Luckily, that wasn't a problem."

"Trust fund baby?" I ask tactlessly, before I can stop the words. My tone is simply curious, but it still isn't a polite thing to say.

Edward's face is unreadable, and I hurry to correct my mistake.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask that. Well I did, but I mean..."

_Eloquent, Bella._

I take a deep breath, Edward Cullen style, before I try to make more sense.

"I won't think badly of you if you are, as long as you don't think badly of me because I'm not."

_There, that sounded good enough. Almost like a business deal...with the gazillionaire_.

"Isabella," he says, and I am suddenly aware that I am stationary, with my gaze on the pavement. I look up warily. He doesn't _seem_ mad, but that doesn't mean much. I hardly know him.

"It's okay. I _was_ a 'trust fund baby,' and I don't care that you're not."

I nod, feeling a desperate need to lighten the moment. At this rate, we'll be talking about religion and politics in five minutes, tops.

I look around where we've stopped, hoping for a list of recommended "ice breakers" to miraculously appear. Unfortunately, all I see is a light sprinkling of snow.

Feeling a tug on my sleeve, I quickly bring my attention back to Edward. His hold is tentative as he grips only the quilted fabric. His voice is just as soft.

"You don't do this either, do you?"

I shake my head sheepishly, taking note of the odd disappointment I feel when Edward releases my coat.

I'm still looking at him when pensive lines form across his forehead. He's not thinking about just anything; he seems _sad_.

Without a thought, my hand reaches up to smooth the creases. I couldn't have stopped the motion even if my shyness wanted me to. His face is too beautiful to be crumpled.

Edward's stare imprisons me when my gloved fingers make contact, bringing me into a smaller, heady reality.

All I can see or feel are burning, emerald eyes.

The need to get much closer.

_My palm still against his cheek._

I rub my thumb over the slight stubble on his chin, soothing the skin.

I have not kissed a boy since Jacob Black, and Edward is no _boy_.

My feet take a half-step backwards without an explicit command to do so, causing my hand to drop. I stare at my fallen fingers with shocked accusation, never having hated my self-preservation instinct more.

Embarrassed, I reluctantly peer up at Edward through my lashes. Fortunately, he doesn't seem too upset with me.

_I'm_ kind of upset with me.

But Edward just holds out his hand.

"Come on, let's go see those lights."

* * *

**July 21, 2010**

_**Edward**_

My eyes briefly scan the diner, the patrons, the mousy waitress who probably doesn't even own a pair of Keds. Forks is ordinary without Isabella - likely a reverted form of the ghost town it was before her. Regardless, it still feels like it's the closest I can get to my heart.

I sense the old man's stare as I run a finger over the edge of my coffee mug. I'm certain that it's the same onlooker as last time. But instead of his eyes shining with curiosity, this time they're accusing.

_You drove her away._

"Edward?" A familiar, indelicate voice breaks me out of my perceived mindreading. I turn toward the sound impassively. My bear of a brother looks flustered.

"I've been looking all over. The police want to 'interview' you."

"Forks police?" I ask, even though this makes little sense.

"No. They love Bella like their own, but they know they can't do anything. This is Seattle's. Besides, they have, what, two guys now?"

I remain silent, still. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll leave like a confused predator.

"Come on, we should hurry. They think you've skipped town or something."

I can't help but to disagree. I'm in no hurry to see Chief Dickwad. I had to work with him when the activists were going nuts, and it wasn't a pleasant experience.

Regardless, I know Emmett is right. I have to meet with them if I'm planning on getting any peace and quiet in the future.

"You can come back tomorrow. You can even stay at my house," he bargain-pleads.

"Fine," I grumble, slightly annoyed that he thinks he has any say in my plans. I'm not an invalid. And I can stay at Isabella's house if I need to.

I get up regretfully, sliding a five dollar bill beneath the untouched drink.

"Should we call Eric?" Emmett asks as he pushes open the door. The sound the bell makes is almost enough to make me head back to my table.

I sigh. "No, he's probably busy. I'll just listen to what they have to say. I'm sure I can handle them."

Emmett stops advancing toward the lot when he sees my shiny, black chauffeur vehicle parked outside. I can only assume that Riley is still inside. Luckily, with a high of 64, the temperature is lower than average today.

"How long have you been here, Edward?" my brother asks, sounding a little afraid of the answer.

I look up at the sky, trying to determine the time of day without using my wristwatch. I'm sure I look crazy, but it doesn't matter.

I focus my eyes back on Emmett's face, determined to look past the pity there.

"I don't know."

* * *

Mike Newton, the current bane of my existence, is a somewhat squishy man who has seen one too many cop shows. His wrinkled shirt has a smattering of what appears to be potato chip crumbs, but further analysis might be needed. Despite his scowling baby face, I know that he's about 35.

He leads me to a dim, dank room comprised of just a desk and an opposing folding chair. The image isn't too far off from _CSI_, which I'm sure is their goal.

I sit down as he paces behind the metal barrier between us. Internally, I'm rolling my eyes as he waits a full minute to talk.

_Suspense. Always build the suspense._

"You didn't tell us that you were having marital problems, Edward," Mike finally accuses. He sounds betrayed, as if I left out juicy information while we were being buddy-buddy on the putting green.

"Doesn't everyone?" I ask in a blasé, rhetorical way. He himself seems to be the type to have a drink or two before coming home to the missus.

"Sure, but not at the level of lawyers and separation. You should have told us that you were looking into divorce. Instead, we heard it on the evening _news_." He says _news_ like its propaganda bullshit, but he sure seems to put a lot of stock into it.

"Luckily, spineless newscasters are quick to give up 'anonymous' sources," he adds, doing that finger quote thing. I somehow hate him even more.

Mike stops pacing and rests his palms on top of the desk. I wonder if there is actually anything _inside_ of the desk, such as Marilyn Manson CDs used as torture devices. I think I would prefer that to the current conversation.

"Did Isabella sign a prenup, Edward?" Mike digs abruptly, though I'm sure he has already found out. He has his no-nonsense tone on, so I suspect this is the "interrogating" part.

"No," I answer flatly.

"Why not?"

"She offered, but I don't believe in them. I think they're bad luck. A bad omen, if you will."

"So you were willing to lose a pretty penny for the sake of superstition, if it didn't work out?"

I swallow thickly at the thought that our marriage really _wasn't_ working out. Everything that I didn't want to happen, did. Prenup or not.

"I was hoping it wouldn't come to that, but yes."

"So maybe you got bored and didn't want to hand over the money. Maybe _you_ made her disappear?"

"Why would I report her missing if I was the one who made her disappear? Wouldn't I want to keep it hush hush?"

He shrugs, but the movement is just for show.

"People do a lot of weird things. When OJ got off, he wrote a book about how he _would have _killed his wife. You know, if he really wanted to. Like that was going to ease anyone's worry. Do you consider that behavior normal, Mr. Cullen?"

I stay quiet, recognizing that fucked up question as the trick it is. Mike walks over to the chair and crouches down until he's only a foot from my face.

"That bastard got by with his good looks and money, and I'll be damned if that happens here."

I match his glare with my own. Mike must be delusional. This is _Seattle_. Our zip code is not 90210.

"I did _not_ kill my wife. You would be better spending your time by actually looking for her like you're supposed to be. I am not going to answer any more of your questions without my lawyer." I shouldn't have said anything at all, but the idiot succeeded in baiting me.

Mike finally stands up, and I'm thankful that I can no longer smell the remnants of his snack time.

"Fine, you're free to go for now." He sounds bored, having just lost his play thing.

I swiftly make my way to the door, intent on punching a tree or a Mike look-a-like as soon as I can get my hands on either.

"Oh and Cullen?" The mischief is back.

I turn around warily, narrowing my eyes at his challenging expression.

"Don't leave town again without telling us."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

Edward and Bella don't cheat on each other in this story. Just wanted to get that out there so you know to look for other reasons.

This chapter is coming to you early because apparently I have no self-control, and I just _had_ to finish it ;) Enjoy!

* * *

**"I can remember absolutely everything, young man. That's my curse. That's one of the greatest curses ever inflicted on the human race: memory."**

- Jedediah

* * *

**April 17, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I groan as I lean back into the leather seats and close my eyes. I don't care where the driver takes us, as long as it's far away from here.

Isabella's jolting voice distracts me from my headache-misery when she starts to speak softly.

"If you wanted a prenup, I wouldn't be mad. I promise."

"Stop it, Isabella," I admonish gently, yet firmly. "I will not discuss the _end_ of our marriage before it has yet to even start. Have some faith. You belong with me. _We're going to make it_."

_I won't let them ruin us._

Bella unexpectedly laughs before she quickly contains the involuntary response. I open my eyes and turn to see her biting her lip in restraint.

"What?" I ask with confused amusement. She looks far too adorable in her dress, trying so hard to remain silent.

"Sorry, it's just...you kind of sound like a Taylor Swift song right now."

I nod, allowing the comparison in stride. I'm not ashamed to admit that I know which song she means. I'm not immune to music - or more specifically, my fiancée's music. It takes a little effort to keep a straight face, however, as I lean back to rest again.

"Yeah, well Taylor Swift is a smart young lady. When she's not screwing that John Mayor character, anyway."

I can sense Isabella's grin, even with my eyes closed. She grabs my right hand, running a finger over my knuckles.

"Promise?" she asks nervously. I need no clarification.

"Promise."

* * *

**July 21, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I bang on the door loudly enough that any creature in the area will hear - sentient or not.

Deep down, I know this isn't polite. Civilized people call first. But knowing this doesn't halt my actions, and I'm certain that Marcus will understand in view of the circumstances.

The wood surface is pulled away from my fist, and I relax slightly when I am met by a friendly face.

"Edward," he greets amiably, as if I hadn't been about to bust down his door. "I was wondering when you'd come."

I nod, resigned. Of course he would expect me.

He leads me into his office for the first time, and even with my distractions, I notice that it's practically bursting with old world charm. I almost expect him to pull out a cigar as he sits himself down on one of the dark leather chairs; he just looks that sophisticated.

"What brings you today?" Marcus asks casually, barely stressing the last word. He's wondering what finally sent me over the edge.

I take a deep breath, intent on getting everything off my chest. If I'm going to hire him, he needs to know everything.

"The police wanted to interview me this afternoon, and I was too stupid to take my lawyer. When I got there, Mike started to ask all these questions like he thought that I was responsible for Isabella's disappearance. He heard on the news that we were having trouble. I just denied his claims and left.

"Then when I was leaving the building, my friend Peter told me that it was my _sister-in-law_ who told about our marital problems! I can't believe I forgot that Rosalie works for the media. Self-righteous Rosalie, who thinks the world's problems are solved by the free flow of information. She has tons of newscaster friends."

I run my hand through my hair, only vaguely aware that I've started to pace.

_The truth can only help, Edward_, I'm sure she would say. Her naivety is infuriating - nothing like the cute inexperience that Isabella embodies. I have no idea why Isabella even confides in her.

"So now it looks like Isabella is fine and just taking a break from me, or I look like a murderer, and it's all Rosalie's fault. My own -"

I pause, about to say "flesh and blood," but that does not really apply. Besides, I've always thought of her as more of an evil spawn.

"My own - sister-in-law!" I yell dumbly.

I stop pacing and try to calm down, knowing that I must be scaring him. Then again, he's a private investigator. I'm sure he's seen lots of passionate people.

I make myself sit down in one of his overstuffed arm chairs, but I'm still anything but composed.

"Isabella is probably hurt or passed out somewhere, and these morons are treating this like a big game of Clue," I say more quietly. "They won't try hard enough to find her, or they'll look in all the wrong places."

I look up from the quasi-oriental rug I've been glaring at. Marcus has not said anything as of yet, and I wonder if that is a bad sign. He silently tucks his dark, shoulder-length hair behind one ear. My friend really is too old to have long hair, but it somehow suits him.

"Can you tell me what happened the last time you saw her? On Saturday night?"

The question throws me. He doesn't want to talk about credit cards, family members or possible locations? That's what the cops did.

I study Marcus curiously, but he just stares back impassively.

My first thought is to tell him off, to say that this has nothing to do with me. But I know that's a lie, and besides...he's on _my_ side.

I nod, swallowing thickly.

* * *

**July 17, 2010**

_**Bella**_

I finish rearranging the kitchen appliances, but it's clear that the act has not distracted me well enough. I still can't get the thoughts of tonight out of my head.

The worst part of the meeting might have been when Donald had no qualms about saying _Mr. Cullen _repeatedly, but insisted on calling me Isabella. As if I no longer had any right to the surname.

I run my fingers over the granite countertop absentmindedly, reverently.

_Only Edward is allowed to call me Isabella._

Annoyed at myself and my wandering mind, I decide that I might as well collapse into bed early.

I make my way through the too-wide hall, purposefully keeping my focus away from the mounted frames that line the walls. My bare feet have just started up the stairs when the front door opens, and I am jolted by a clear and confident voice.

"Isabella." It's an announcement of presence and a mild scolding, all wrapped into one.

I turn around to see Edward just feet away. I can tell that he's agitated but calm. He's always calm.

"Why won't you take your share?" he asks quietly, sounding offended. He has not moved from the entryway, and I have barely breathed.

"Are you trying to hurt me? Villainize me? I just don't understand."

"No..." I murmur disbelievingly. _How can he think that?_

"I didn't earn any of that money, Edward. I didn't buy this house. You should keep it."

"I want you to have it. I'd never be able to live with myself if I left you with nothing."

I glare at him.

"Oh, I get it. Poor Bella, right?" I ask mockingly, my voice picking up volume. My elevated height from the steps must be giving me an added boost of confidence.

"Poor wrong-side-of-the-tracks, diner fucking Bella! Well fuck you, Cullen! I don't want your charity."

I have always tried to hide my swearing and other unladylike traits from him, but there really is no point now. Edward doesn't try to mask the shock on his face as he silently stares at me in wonder. When he finally snaps out of his stupor, he walks over to where I've crumpled myself on the stairs. The polished surface of the stone step is cold against my skin, like most of the house.

"Please just talk to me," he pleads above me. I look down at my buffed fingernails so I can avoid his towering form. I can't stand his soft, gentle tone. I'd rather he yelled at me. He's never yelled at me.

"There's nothing to say," I mumble, my previous strength completely absent. It's a total lie. We could probably write a book with all the things we need to tell each other. But I won't let myself feel guilty. If he really wanted to talk, he would not have hired the intermediaries tonight. "Please just go."

He hesitates, then I stare at his shined, brown leather shoes as he walks to the door. From my low viewpoint, I can see that the sun is still shining when he opens it. It makes me angry. The sun doesn't deserve to shine when my world is falling apart.

Edward's feet have paused at the doorway, waiting. _He's still here._ I finally force myself to look up. His hair is a mess of auburn, as if a thousand hands have run through it within the last minute.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

My voice refuses to work.

_I'm sorry, too_, I try to show.

I love you, his eyes say.

_I love you more._

Edward shuffles his Italian leather against the hardwood. Emerald irises are still glowing into mine.

Don't ask me to leave.

_I already did._

Edward roughly rubs his forehead, blocking his eyes and cutting off our conversation. He lets out a harsh breath before he walks out into the too-bright sunshine.

The door echoes as it shuts, and I run both hands over my arms, fighting chills. I think about turning the heat on, even though it won't help.

Breathing deeply, I grab the banister and pick myself up. It's an act I am used to.

It was wrong to let myself depend on someone. Just plain wrong.

The sounds of the Volvo slowly diminish as I stand, and part of me can't believe that I had the audacity to kick Edward out of his own home. The other part can't let herself care. She's trying to think of options that don't exist. Deep down, I know that there is only one choice. I have to go.


	5. Chapter 5  Outtake

**A/N: **

This is basically a short bonus chapter that I may move to outtakes later on. I tried to fit it in with the next one, but the moods were clashing too much. The rest will be up tomorrow.

Now...Remember Mike's request/demand at the end of chapter 3? Maybe not, but I won't tell if you peek.

* * *

"**I run a couple of newspapers. What do you do?"** - Kane

* * *

**July 24, 2010**

_**Edward**_

"This is Edward. Edward Cullen. I'm going to Forks for a little while. I'll probably stay the night at my brother's...bye."

"_Next message, sent July 23. At 8:02 a.m._"

"Edward Cullen. I'm headed to Port Angeles for a meeting. I'll be back home later today."

"_Next message, sent July 23. At 6:13 p.m._"

"This is Edward. I just wanted to let you know that I'm about 5 feet from the Seattle boundary line. See, it's a beautiful day and I thought, 'What the hell?' There aren't many days in the Pacific Northwest when it's not raining or snowing, and I don't hike like I used to. So, here I am. If you need me, I'm a little ways into the foliage, near a tree with a rather mischievous-"

"_Next message, sent July 23. At 8:21 p.m._"

"Hey, Edward here. I'm in the next town over because I ran out of Nutter Butters. I had to go to Renton to get the special edition kind. You know what I'm talking about, right? The patty version that lays the peanut butter on all nice and thick, so you're not left scrounging for more. I think they stole the idea from double stuffed Oreos or Cakesters, but you won't see me complaining. Actually -"

The machine cuts off with a long, tired BEEP as a chubby finger jabs an ominously red button. Mike glares at me, looking like a harmful mix of high blood pressure and constipation. He gestures wildly toward the now-silent machine.

"Do you think this is _funny_, Cullen?"

I match his stare as I calmly uncross my legs.

"No, I don't think it's funny at all. In fact, I'm almost over my cell phone minutes."

He watches my straight expression while his own face flames with ire.

"You've called so much that my guys have just started letting your number go to the machine automatically. And do you know who gets to supervise the machine and its logs?"

My lips twitch. I can guess.

I lean back slightly in my leather seat. Coincidentally, it is much more comfortable than the previous chair they supplied me with. _Tax dollar number 5,052._

"I'm just following orders, Mike. I'm a busy man. I need to travel a lot."

He sends me a withering look.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that _Nutter Butters_ were a requirement of being a millionaire."

I shrug. "Oprah flies to get her favorite donuts. I like to think that this is more environmentally friendly."

Mike gazes at me with a mix of disgust and awe before he focuses on his cluttered desk instead. He glowers at the answering machine as if he wants to hit it, but is afraid that it might bite.

"You can go now. And only call us in the future when you're at least _50_ miles away from home."

I finally let myself smile at his misfortune and my gain. He's not looking at me, but I'm sure he will hear it in my voice.

"Sure thing, Boss."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**

If you're feeling lost in the narrative: Cling to Edward's POV of recent events. You'll notice that that his actions/interactions are fluid and in order. You're basically on this journey with him as he looks for Bella and remembers what went wrong - and what went right.

* * *

**"****It isn't enough to tell us what a man did. You've got to tell us who he was."**

- Rawlston

* * *

**July 24, 2010**

_**Edward**_

It's nearly midnight when I finally get the courage to enter our bedroom. It almost feels like I'm trespassing because most recently, Isabella was sleeping in here alone.

Sidestepping items haphazardly left on the floor, I glance around the space cautiously.

I haven't studied the room in detail since I had to give the police a tour. Since then, I only come in here each morning to do a quick daily sweep with my eyes...just in case she miraculously appeared while I was sleeping in the guest room.

After I spoke with Marcus, it became obvious that I was avoiding the room out of fear, and I decided that I wouldn't let apprehension rule my decisions a long time ago.

I sit down on the large bed, numbly taking in my surroundings.

Her camera bag, scattered clothes, hair ties.

Bare walls...

We hadn't decided on which paintings to hang yet.

Suddenly exhausted, I lie down on my back, grabbing a beaded throw pillow to occupy my hands.

I'm somewhat tempted to just fall asleep in here, even though it will hurt much more when I wake up.

_I'll expect her to be here when I wake up._

But maybe the nightmares will stop.

I know I have things to do tomorrow, a morning alarm in the next room, but...

Forgetting all that is sounding better and better.

I turn my head to half-heartedly look at the clock, noticing a lump under the comforter that looks somewhat familiar. Curious as ever, I pull back the silky, golden fabric. The action quickly reveals artificial brown fur and black plastic eyes staring back at me complacently.

Confusion turns to shock, then relief, then despair.

I pick him up, affectionately bothering the fur on his ears with my fingers.

_Benny._

* * *

**January 16, 2010**

_**Edward**_

Isabella squeezes her arms tighter around my neck, tugging on my now-tousled hair before she makes that adorable cooing noise that drives me nuts.

I gently push her against the wall next to the bedroom door as I explore her mouth and the soft curve of her waist.

_Gently._ Always gently with Isabella.

"Inside, please," I murmur rather urgently against her lips.

Isabella giggles as she struggles to open the door behind her, and I immediately plan on bottling the sound as soon as possible.

After numerous blind attempts - eliciting more delightful noises - she's somehow successful in the fight against the doorknob. Managing to lead us to her bed without tripping on anything, I carefully lay her down without breaking our connection.

While a twin bed might not be the best conduit on which to consummate our relationship, it's rather apt that it's small and innocent...like Isabella.

"Edward," she sighs contentedly as she breaks away for air. I smile and focus my attentions on her neck, never growing tired of her saying my name. I lightly skim the sensitive skin below her ear with my teeth, receiving a shiver as she hooks a leg around my hip.

Now that we've reached a more comfortable destination, neither of us seems to be in as big of a hurry as we were a few minutes ago. I kiss Isabella slow and deep while she plays with the buttons on my shirt. She alternates between teasing my chest and torturing my locks, while my free hand seems unwilling to let go of the place where her jeans meet the smooth skin of her abdomen. I tenderly rub the hollow next to her hip bone, earning more sighs.

As I roll us onto our sides, I become aware of the fact that there is a lump of something softly digging into my ribs. I try my damnedest to dislodge it without removing my lips, but it's just not working out. Isabella notices my struggle and breaks the kiss.

"You're lying on Benny," she observes breathlessly. I look down, trying to see the invisible offender.

"Who's Benny?"

Is there a very small man in her bed that I didn't notice before? If so, I'll be pissed.

"My bear," she answers too loudly, seeming embarrassed. She's all bashful and blushing, and I know that shouldn't fuel my desire, but it does.

I sit up and dig under the covers a bit before I find what she's talking about. Sure enough, it's a brown stuffed bear with what feels like beans in its paws to keep them firm. He's pretty large, too - about the size of her torso. As if to demonstrate the fact, Isabella takes the bear and hugs it to her chest.

"My dad got him for me," she murmurs while she smoothes down the ruffled fur on his forehead. The impromptu grooming does little good; the shock of fur just pops right back up.

I move back a bit so I can take in the entirety of her beauty. Rosy cheeks, holding onto the teddy bear she got from her father...the picture of innocence.

I lean over her to tug on the edge of the purple comforter as she gives Benny a final squeeze. In such a small bed, it's not much of a reach.

"Come on," I murmur close to her lips. "Let's go to bed."

Isabella gazes at me questioningly, looking puzzled and a little disappointed. She speaks slowly, uncertainly.

"We're not going to..."

Her shy, trailed-off question confirms my resolution. I lean in and brush my lips against her jaw for a quick kiss. Unable to resist, I also plant one on the side of Isabella's mouth. Her unmistakable strawberry scent overwhelms my senses until I force myself to pull back.

Smiling softly, I run my fingers through her mussed-up hair.

"Not tonight."


	7. Chapter 7

_._

* * *

**"The news goes on for twenty-four hours a day."**

- Kane

* * *

**July 24, 2010**

_**Edward**_

_Benny._

_Benny. Benny. Benny._

My body is jittery, my leg bouncing against the seat.

I take a particularly sharp turn, causing Benny to slip off the passenger's seat.

"Shit."

I glance at the fallen stuffed animal apologetically. Maybe I should have used the seatbelt.

I pull into the desired driveway before going on foot.

A terrible wave of déjà vu hits me as I stand in front of the door, banging it as quietly-loud as possible.

I hope none of the neighbors complain. It's surely midnight by now, but at least he lives alone.

The door opens fairly quickly, and I am met by a very groggy Marcus.

Fortunately, he doesn't look mad - just incredulous.

I decide to deliver a preemptive strike.

"She left her bear."

He stares at me blankly for a moment before he rubs his bleary eyes.

"What?"

I try to be more coherent and calm, for his sake. I look down at the brown fur in my hands as way of indication.

"I found Benny in our room, and I don't think she would willingly leave without him. Her father gave this to her."

"Maybe Isabella just forgot to bring him, in her rush?" he guesses tiredly. He doesn't understand.

"No!" I exclaim, holding Benny up with my left arm. My frustration is being fed by my shattered nerves, my shattered reality.

"She _loves_ this fucking bear. She wouldn't just leave him behind. I knew that she wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. Maybe this means that she didn't want to go. Maybe - "

"Edward," he interrupts quietly.

He reaches his hand out to touch Benny, but I pull my arm back. I can't let him. It's the most I have left of her.

Inside, my emotions are a mess - worry that she's not okay warring with excitement because she might still love me.

"Edward," Marcus murmurs slowly. "I'm glad that this has given you hope...or I'm sorry that this is distressing you."

He pauses and looks directly into my eyes. "But _I can't do anything _with a teddy bear."

He says the words so kindly, so sympathetically...and that's so much worse.

_He doesn't know if we can find her._

I nod once, bringing my eyes to the smooth concrete of his porch.

"Right. I'm sorry that I woke you up." I think my words are true, but I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything at the moment.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," he promises carefully. "It's Sunday, so I take the day off. You do too, right?"

"Yeah. Maybe," I answer without looking up.

"Are you okay?" he asks in a hesitant voice, as if he won't know what to do if I'm not.

"Sure, I'm fine." Someone deserves to sleep decently tonight.

I turn and walk down the pitch-black driveway, not meeting his gaze as I climb in the Volvo.

Marcus watches my car back out as he stands at the front door. His body is backlit by the foyer light, making him a solitary figure in the darkened suburb.

The lonely sight haunts me for the ten minutes it takes to drive home.

After I park in the garage, I stall a bit, resting my head against the steering wheel before I unsnap Benny. I reluctantly go inside and climb the steps, needing to return him to his proper place.

In my haste, I must have left the lights on upstairs. Our room looks exactly the same, but I feel heavier as I enter.

I place Benny in the middle of the bed, leaving the covers off this time.

He's perfectly straight, propped up against the softest purple pillow.

I study the scene reverently until I have no choice but to support my head with my hands.

It's all too much.

Surrounded by her clutter, the pillows she slept on alone last week...wept on...

Where I watched her sleep the first night after I told her...

I finally cry.

* * *

**May 4, 2010**

_**Edward**_

Isabella holds up her hand so it's frozen in the air, displaying the glittering square diamond for the sunlight.

"I like how it sparkles," she smiles.

"Me, too."

I'm also happy to see that the textured, white gold wedding band we picked out fits well. Rosalie helped me choose the engagement ring, which was somewhat shocking by itself.

We walk slowly, our arms and clasped hands swinging between us as we distance ourselves from the train station.

"What's this town called, again?" Isabella asks.

"Sospel. You'll notice that it's greener than Nice. It's less crowded, too."

"Are we heading to any particular place?"

"Yes." I smile without conscious command to do so. "My parents got married on that hill, over there." I point to the spot that's still a ways off.

"Well, let's go, then," Isabella says as she tugs on my hand excitedly. I'm a little surprised at her enthusiasm, but pleased all the same, so I'm more than willing to let her lead the way down the street.

We make the trek up the grassy incline - which, embarrassingly, Isabella does more easily than I - and I gratefully slip off the backpack holding our stuff. It feels strange to carry one after all these years of not being a student, but it was the best day trip companion I could think of.

Isabella takes in the view of the quaint buildings as I unzip the pack. Checking first to make sure the grass is dry, I lay down the blanket as evenly as I can amidst the wind. Isabella promptly ruffles it when she climbs on anyway, causing me to chuckle.

"What?" she asks suspiciously as she lies back, stretching her legs. Her sundress rides up a bit with the action.

"Nothing."

I walk around the quilt, nudging her shoulder so she will make room for me. She smiles cheekily and shakes her head.

"Seriously?" I inquire as she playfully reaches out her arms, taking up even more of the fabric.

"Okay, fine."

Isabella squeaks when I pick her up, trapping her in my arms before I settle us both onto the blanket. Her squeal turns into a laugh as she hits my chest half-heartedly.

"No need to go all caveman," she murmurs as she wraps her legs around mine.

Her breathless words and our position make me think of how our bare legs were entwined two nights ago, her skin against my skin...

Fortunately, Isabella is oblivious to my distraction as she speaks against my shirt. I feel the heat of her breath through the thin cotton.

"How long has the house in Nice been in your family?"

I swallow, fighting to gain control over my mind and body.

"My father bought it as a wedding present of sorts for my mom. They happened to come across it on their honeymoon and fell in love with it."

Isabella wiggles against me, so I adjust my hold until she is more comfortable. Her head still rests on my upper arm.

"Do you visit here often?" she asks. I'm not sure if she means this spot particularly, or this region of France in general. Either way, the answer is the same.

"No, just once in the last few years."

Isabella is quiet, and I know she won't push to get more information. It's perfectly fine if I don't want to share more. But I _want_ to share more.

"My mom and I came here on vacation once, when I was 7. I think it was the happiest I ever saw her."

My arms tighten instinctively at the disclosure, pulling Isabella closer.

I burrow my face in her hair, breathing in the comforting fragrance.

"Don't leave me."

I hate how dependent my voice sounds, but I can't help it. I don't think I could bear to lose another family member.

Isabella's puzzled voice interrupts my dismal thought.

"I'm not leaving you, Edward," she vows against my chest. "I love you."

I pull back so I can look into her eyes, craving the truth and proof I'll see there.

"I love you," she repeats, brushing the pads of her fingers against my jaw. "Where would I go?"


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:**

So much Benny love. I decided to share a photo of the _real_ Benny on my profile. (Don't worry; my own father is alive and well.)

There's no Edward narrative in this chapter. Feels a little strange to me, but our Isabella wants to talk.

* * *

**"Forty-nine thousand acres of nothin' but scenery and statues. I'm lonesome."**

- Susan

* * *

**January 30, 2010**

_**Bella**_

"Please don't tell Emmett about this."

I roll my eyes. "One viewing of _Runaway Bride _is not going to kill your manliness." I turn my head to look over my shoulder, remaining cradled in his arms as we lie on my couch. "But fine, I promise."

"I'd never hear the end of it," Edward insists as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Besides, Julia Roberts has nothing on you." He smiles crookedly, turning on the charm.

"Whatever," I huff, trying to hold back my grin.

I turn my attention back to a kind of old - yet cute - Richard Gere, getting lost in his antics once again.

After a few minutes, I notice that Edward is unusually quiet, not offering his usual witty interruptions. The gentle touches to my body have slowed as well.

I carefully turn onto my opposite side, using his body to steady myself amidst the limited sofa room. Edward's eyes move from the small TV to my own in anticipation. With his eyelids drooping a bit, he looks even more adorable.

"Tired?" I ask, concerned.

"I'm fine," he answers, seeming to stifle a yawn.

My stomach voices a needy protest, and I sigh.

"Why am I hungry again?" I ask no one in particular, glaring accusingly at our looted Chinese take-out. Edward chuckles.

"That's the age-old question, Ms. Swan."

I give his jaw a quick kiss. "I think I'll make some popcorn."

I reluctantly climb out of his grasp and head for the kitchen, picking up the empty containers on the way. Finding some very unhealthy _Extra Butter _on top of the fridge, I stick a bag in the microwave. I decide to stay close so I don't burn it and stink up the whole downstairs.

When I return two and a half minutes later with my bowl of buttery goodness, the only sounds in the room are coming from the movie.

_"I don't know. I'm working on it. I was on the wrong track."_

I walk around the back of the couch to see Edward sleeping blissfully, his upper body propped up against the padded armrest. His head is resting lazily on folded arms.

I hold in my chuckle, not wanting to wake him since he got here late last night. I guess chick flicks really aren't his thing.

_"Do you know what kind of eggs she liked?" _

Reaching my hand toward his, I carefully remove the remote from his grasp.

_"Poached. Same as me."_

I shut off the TV, already accepting of the fact that we'll crash here tonight.

I take my popcorn back into the kitchen to munch on it, but the taste loses its appeal after only a few mouthfuls. After quickly brushing my teeth in the downstairs bathroom, I return to the living room.

I quietly approach Edward, wanting to say goodnight even though he won't hear it.

Leaning forward, I bring my face close enough to his neck that I can smell his cinnamon-vanilla scent. If my hair wasn't in a pony tail, it would have formed a curtain around us.

"I love you," I whisper above him. The bronze hair near his ear flutters a little with my secret words.

I make myself sit down on the opposite side of the couch, bringing my legs up so they are flush with Edward's. I want to snuggle some more, but I figure this position leaves less of a chance of falling onto the floor. Fortunately, we're both propped up and I'm short, so neither of us should wake up with a foot in our face.

I take one last, wistful peek at his peaceful, slumbering form.

_One of these days_, I promise myself as I cover us with the afghan.

I burrow the back of my head into the throw pillow behind me, finally allowing my eyes to rest.

One of these days...I will tell him when he's conscious.

* * *

**May 28, 2010**

_**Bella**_

I fiddle with my Canon's settings before aiming the lens at the chandelier in the hall. While viewing the tentative image on the small screen, I slowly move my arms until just the right spot is in focus. I press my pointer finger down resolutely.

_That should do it._

I smile as I review the photo, pleased by the light reflecting off the crystals and metal.

Like earlier this week, I jump slightly when I hear Sue, Edward's housekeeper of three years, let herself in the front door. I still feel kind of bad that she's picking up after us, but I don't want her to be unemployed, either.

Deciding to visit her while I save the photos, I carry my laptop and camera downstairs, into the dining room.

Sue is holding a stack of envelopes when I enter.

"Hey, Bella," she greets warmly. I smile in response and set my heavy things down on the table.

"You've got some mail. A packet from the University of Washington, most notably," she reports brightly, handing me the envelope. "Have you looked at the fall classes yet?"

"Yeah, but I don't know what I want to study." My voice is embarrassingly quiet. I never expected that I'd be able to go to college.

"You'll figure it out. You don't even need a steady major for the first two years."

I nod as I sit down at the table. "It's too bad that the best summer gen ed classes are full. The only interesting ones left have awful professors, according to online reviews."

She gives me a small, sympathetic smile. "Try to enjoy the downtime, like a vacation. It's only for the summer."

"I know. I'm just not used to it. I was almost tempted to head down to the downtown restaurants just to be productive, but I knew Edward would never hear of it. He knows I hate waitressing."

Sue laughs. "If you do mention it, please let me know first. I'd love to see his face."

I sigh. "He spoils me."

"He likes to. And it's hardly spoiling. You have to be the only woman in the world who only uses her black card for _gas_."

She sends me a teasing look, and I have to resist sticking my tongue out at her.

I open up my laptop and place the just-used memory card in the correct slot. I would need to order a new one soon. _I'm going through them like water._

"What are you working on?" Sue asks curiously as she sorts the rest of the mail. I turn my laptop toward her so she can see the thumbnails, and she walks closer.

"It's called a 365 project. You take one picture a day for a year..." I glance at my computer, nearly blushing at all the choices. "Well, you select just one of them, anyway."

"When did you start?" she asks.

"Soon after Edward gave me the camera for Christmas."

"Have you shown him?"

I shake my head. "I think I'll show it to him when I'm done. But there's a really cool gallery event coming up with a similar project. It's done by a well-known local artist, so I'm going to ask Edward if he'll come with me to that."

"That sounds fun." She glances in the direction of the kitchen. "Well, I better get to work."

I suddenly feel guilty. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to distract you."

"Don't be silly. I like talking to you, Bella." She smiles a motherly smile - one more motherly than Renee was ever capable of - before she makes her way out of the dining room.

* * *

Sue says goodbye two hours later, right before I'm expecting Edward to get home. When I finally hear him use his key, I half-skip to the kitchen, camera in tow.

He's rummaging through the fridge when I get there, like usual. I've learned that Edward doesn't really like to eat take-out during the week, so he does all his snacking at home.

Dressed in crisp, grey button-down, he seems to have abandoned his jacket and tie. He selects a Tupperware with leftovers from last night and sticks it in the microwave.

"Hey, Baby," I greet when he turns around. I give him a sound kiss on the lips, leaving my hands tangled in his hair when I pull away. "I missed you."

Edward loosely winds his arms around my waist, mindful of the camera around my neck. "I missed you, too." His nose nuzzles my cheek, spreading tingles throughout my body. The food finishes heating, but we remain frozen like this for about a minute.

He kisses my cheek when he finally releases me.

I lift up my camera, peering at him via the LCD screen.

"Smile," I command with a grin.

Edward obediently offers a wide, genuine smile, complete with pearly whites.

His eyes crinkle adorably at the corners, but it's the corner of his mouth that I'm focused on this time. I zoom in until only the right side is showing, snapping the picture when it's no longer blurry.

"Perfect."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:**

More about the _Kane_ quotes: They often help set the tone, and sometimes, I write whole chapters around them. So they should be helpful even if you haven't seen the movie.

* * *

**"There's a lot of pictures and statues in Europe you haven't bought yet."**

**"You can't blame me, Mr. Bernstein. They've been making statues for two thousand years, and I've only been buying for five."**

- Mr. Bernstein & Kane

* * *

**April 15, 2010**

_**Bella**_

"How many bedrooms did you say you want?" the realtor asks once we reach the bottom of the staircase.

Edward shifts his gaze from me to Gianna, then back again.

I shrug. I don't know why she didn't ask before we toured the gazillion square feet, but maybe she thought it didn't matter. There are plenty of rooms.

"I don't know. Three, maybe?" Edward guesses. "So we could have two guest rooms. Then later..." he trails shyly, and my heart flutters with the implication.

Gianna smiles. She appears unaffected by our lack of decisiveness. Maybe she's used to it.

"Well, that's good. You'll have an extra room for things like music or movies."

I wonder if we'll have a room just for gift wrapping, like the Spellings. I hold back my laugh, turning to face the stairs to hide my inexplicable amusement.

Our real estate encyclopedia picks up on my presumed interest.

"Those stone steps were custom made. The previous owner chose them. Aren't they pretty?"

I nod; they really are. All cream with swirls of pink and pure white...

"Would you like a few minutes?" she asks professionally, sensing a lull in conversation.

"Sure," Edward agrees from behind me. Gianna walks about 15 feet away, probably to pretend she's not listening.

I turn to face Edward, who immediately cups my face in his hands. He looks down at me, reading my eyes.

"Do you like the house?"

"Of course," I answer truthfully. "Who wouldn't? It's beautiful."

"I agree. I kind of want to add an atrium, though."

"An atrium?" I ask, a small skylight coming to mind.

He nods, pulling me into his arms.

"Have you ever seen an atrium in a house, Isabella? In real life?" I shake my head hesitantly, knowing that he's leading up to something.

"Me neither. I've only seen them in books." Edward stresses the last word, a sense of awe in his tone as he looks around. He shakes his head before continuing.

"No, I don't think atrium is the right word. That suggests glass... You know how the Romans had those gardens right in the middle of their homes, with no ceiling above them? With grass and everything. A courtyard."

"You want to do that here?" I laugh in shock.

Edward looks up, his boyish excitement taking over his expression. The ceiling is high here, near the front of the house. The second floor starts a little ways back, with the top of the stairs and a veranda-like, wrap-around walkway.

"Sure, why not?"

"Because it already has a ceiling. And a floor."

"That could be fixed."

"So how do you like it?" our encyclopedia asks loudly, interrupting our stalemate.

She must be getting worried over the sound of us arguing, even if it is mostly in jest. That never is a good sign for her commission.

Edward smiles at her politely before focusing only on me, recreating the illusion of privacy as he holds me closer.

"You're sure you like it?" he murmurs. "More than the others? I know it's not perfect..." he trails off, concern wrinkling his forehead.

I brush my fingers against his cheek. "It's more than we could ever need," I reassure. "As long as you like it, too."

"No courtyard?" he half-grins, half-pouts.

I giggle. "No courtyard. But out back, we could have a garden..." I offer, still wanting him to be happy.

Edward kisses my forehead, exuberantly turning toward Gianna with me still in his arms.

"Alright, we'll take it."

* * *

**July 26, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I lie with my arms supporting my head, soaking up the waning sunlight.

The brick pavement is hard against my back, but not uncomfortable enough to make me move. The trickling sound of the fountain is soothing, as are the wind-blown rose shrubs and dahlias.

_Isabella especially wanted the dahlias._

I sigh and stand up, the previous peace now lost.

I walk over to our matured berry bushes, noting with concern that the small fruits are starting to dry up. I'll need to come back soon with an empty container.

I pick one of the plump berries, brushing off a speck of dried foliage. The purple-black juice stains my fingers as I hold it between them.

My stomach twinges when I pop the black raspberry into my mouth. With bothersome clarity, I realize that I must be hungry. It's not too surprising, seeing how breakfast was my most recent meal.

I make my way across the yard, to the sliding glass door that opens up to the kitchen. The only sounds in the house are my clicking shoes against the tile as I walk to the cupboards above the counter.

I open them all up, foraging on my mind. After I analyze the contents doubtfully, I finally decide on a can of Progresso soup. Opening a can... That, I can handle. But getting too adventurous won't end very well.

Since I've always been completely worthless in the kitchen, food was one of the many ways in which Isabella spoiled me.

I swallow as I pour the creamy chicken-corn-potato concoction into a pan, opting for the stove since the soup is more likely to splatter in the microwave.

I hear Sue let herself in while I'm turning on the heat. When she enters the kitchen, I glance at her and the clock briefly, my brow furrowing. She's an hour late, and she's _never_ late.

"Did you have to run some errands?" I ask curiously, even though this doesn't seem likely. Regardless, I'm not mad.

I swirl my spoon around the pan, having the sinking feeling that I'm using the wrong utensil for teflon. Isabella was so excited about finding this set on the home shopping channel.

Sue sets her purse down on the island, making a clinking sound when the chain-link strap hits the surface.

"No, the police stopped by earlier," she answers nonchalantly. "You were outside, but they wanted to talk to me, ask me questions."

I look up from my food, alarmed. _Have they found out something new?_

Sue stares back with a steely expression.

"I didn't tell them, you know."

I'm taken aback by the hostility in her eyes. I don't think she's ever looked at me like that.

"Tell them what?" I ask warily...urgently.

Her wildfire stare is still blazing.

"That you treat her like a novelty, a plaything. That she's afraid to displease you. That I've spent as much time with her this month as you have."

I'm shocked into silence, but Sue is just getting started. She tucks a short strand of black hair behind her ear, her tone now more somber than angry.

"We both know that won't help us find Bella. And I love her, too."

Her voice cracks at the end, and I'm suddenly overcome by a similar tightness in my throat.

"I love her," I defend firmly, even though she's agreeing with me.

Sue's bronze eyes lighten slightly.

"I know," she concedes sympathetically. Pityingly. She picks her purse up by the strap, placing it back on her shoulder.

"But it takes more to keep a marriage. You have to work for it, too."

She turns and exits then, having said her piece.

Leaving me to my soup, my memories, and a large...very empty mansion.


	10. Chapter 10

_._

* * *

**"He made an awful lot of money."**

**"Well, it's no trick to make a lot of money...if all you want...is to make a lot of money."**

- Thompson & Mr. Bernstein

* * *

**June 11, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I shut down my computer, waiting until it's definitely off before I stand to leave. It's one of my quirks, thinking that technology won't obey if I'm not there to fend off any last-minute pop-ups.

Grabbing my suit jacket, I check my desk for anything I might need to bring home. Happy to leave empty-handed, I turn toward the open door, stopping when I notice someone standing at the entrance to my office.

"Hey, Alec," I greet questioningly. "I was just heading out..."

Alec shuffles his feet, appearing apologetic yet excited as he rubs his receding hairline.

"The Smiths just called. It sounds like they're ready to make a deal - tonight. They asked if we could talk over dinner. Can you make it?"

My heart leaps in my chest, excited by the long-awaited sale.

"Yeah, of course. We should jump on it before they change their mind," I half-laugh.

He smiles in reply, pulling out his cell phone.

"French or Italian?"

* * *

I climb our steps easily, thanks to the porch light illuminating the area with an unnatural brightness. My body also feels lighter, enthused by the night's success.

Bringing my eyes up after I close the front door, I instinctively focus on the staircase when I spot something there.

Isabella is sitting on one of the lower steps, dressed in a deep blue dress I haven't seen before.

The fabric on the left side is bunched up slightly, while waves of the airy material cascade down her opposite thigh. Isabella stands, making the longest ruffles brush the top of her knees. She looks absolutely stunning.

_Shit._

"Isabella..." I murmur repentantly, my mood taking a nosedive. "Why didn't you call?" The impulsive question is both breathless and hopeless.

"I did," she argues in a small voice. "Your cell was off, and you weren't in the office. I didn't want to go alone..."

I walk closer to her cemented form as I speak. Her curled hair is pinned up high on her head, except for a few escaped tendrils.

"I'm sorry; it's completely my fault that I forgot." Obviously, this is what I should have started with. I didn't even remember to tell her I'd be home late. It's been just _me_ for so long that sometimes, I forget there is someone out there who might worry.

"I promise we'll go to the gallery another time, for a similar event," I vow, now remembering that this was the last day. "I know you said you were curious about it."

Isabella looks down with a grimace, but it doesn't seem aimed at me. It's the same face she made when she first introduced herself as Isabella.

I close my arms around her waist, hugging her to my chest in hopeful apology. But her body is too stiff, and she resists my hold with a step back.

She starts up the stairs without an added word, leaving only the soft _swish_ of her dress and the echo of her ballet flats as remnants of her presence.

A few minutes pass after the revealed skin of her back disappears from sight. When obscenities stop indiscriminately slurring in my mind, I follow her path to the second level of the house.

Isabella is not in the bedroom, but the door to our joint bathroom is closed. When I get closer, I can hear a slight sniffling noise.

My chest stings with unrestricted regret - a million little pinpricks of mistakes and shuffled priorities.

I expected to find her angry, not crying.

I close my eyes and place my forehead against the surface of the door, sighing without taking a breath.

The image of her wide, sad-flat eyes is burned into my mind.

I've caused many emotions to cross her face: lust, excitement, adoration, sympathy. But never such severe..._disappointment_.

I want to know why she is so upset. Is it the event itself, or mostly the fact that I forgot? She said she was just curious...

My first hovers over the door, poised to knock. Poised to beg.

Isabella lets out a particularly loud sob, startling me and my tentative plan. My hand drops, too fearful to announce its presence. I've never felt so helpless and inadequate.

Maybe I should just know. Maybe she'll push me away again. I don't think I could bear that.

I stare down at my shoes, at the natural creases that branch off like trees. One hopeful thought crosses my mind, and I cling to it like it's a life raft.

_Maybe everything will be okay in the morning._

* * *

**February 14, 2010**

_**Edward**_

My lips turn up against my pillow when I remember that Isabella is here, just like she has been for the whole weekend.

I reach my hand out expectantly, only coming in contact with cooled sheets. Surprised and more than a little disappointed, I open my eyes and see that the other side of the bed is empty. Sunlight is slipping through my curtains, politely suggesting that maybe she simply wanted to start her day at a decent hour.

Glancing at the bedside clock, I'm momentarily confused when I hear a high pitch chirping coming from somewhere else in the apartment.

_The fire alarm_.

I quickly look around my bedroom, just in case I somehow missed Isabella the first time. Her absence is now even more disconcerting.

_Where is she?_

I hurry out of bed, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood in a panicked rhythm as I follow the shrill sound to its source. The noise disappears as I enter the dining room, leaving as suddenly as it came.

By looking through the open section of the divider wall, I can see Isabella walking in the kitchen with a baking sheet in her hand. She must have fanned the smoke detector with it. That, or she is an appliance murderer, but I don't seem to be upset by either option.

She sets down the metal sheet, leaning her back against the counter before she hides her downcast face with her hands. Even from here, the trembling of her shoulders is visible.

As I get closer, I notice that smoke has made the air a little hazy. There is also an unpleasant burning smell coming from the stove, but I don't care. I'm just so relieved that there is no fire, and that Isabella is okay.

_She doesn't look okay._

New worry fills my head as it comes up with all sorts of causes for her dismay.

_Is she hurt?_

"What's wrong, love?" I ask softly.

She doesn't startle when I speak, but she doesn't reply, either. A small part of my mind wonders if she even heard me.

I place my hands beneath her arms, lifting her up onto the counter. Isabella's palms are still covering her face, smothering her sniffling as I stand between her knees. I ghost my hands over the skin of her raised arms, checking for burns, scratches - _anything_ - for an explanation.

"Isabella?" I ask worriedly, the silenced sound of the alarm still ringing in my ears. I comb my fingers through my hair, tugging on it out of frustration. It's too early in the morning for this kind of bafflement.

"Please," I whisper above her ear. "Tell me what happened."

She uncovers her tear-glossed face, still avoiding my eyes.

"I wanted to cook you breakfast. I know how to cook - I cooked for Charlie all the time, but I wasn't used to your pan, or maybe the stove...I just walked away for a minute!"

_This is about food?_

"Calm down, sweetheart," I implore, rubbing her back soothingly. "I know you can cook. I'm not mad. Actually, I really appreciate that you tried."

My mind runs over the many times Isabella has made us lunch or dinner while staying in Forks, noting that we have always eaten cereal or Pop-tarts in the morning. In fact, this is the first time any girl has ever cooked me breakfast.

Deciding that maybe she'd feel better if we distance ourselves from the kitchen, I lift her off the counter, encouraging her to cling to me. I walk into the dining room before setting her back on her feet. She immediately burrows her face into my faded T-shirt.

"I'm sorry about the smoke alarm," she mumbles.

"That's okay. It's very sensitive," I fib. Well, it might be. I don't cook enough to know.

"What will we eat?" Her question is anguished, as if we're lost in the Sahara with only a Snickers bar between us.

"Don't worry about it. We can order a pizza," I suggest flippantly, smoothing her hair with my hand.

_Now please stop crying, angel._

Her confused voice is muffled by cotton. "At ten in the morning?"

_The holes in my logic are putting a serious damper on my comforting skills._

"Oh, right. We'll go to IHOP, then."

I release her reluctantly, since I'm pretty sure we can't drive anywhere if I don't let her go.

Isabella looks up at me, still not seeming convinced by my nonchalant, pardoning words. Or maybe she just can't picture me in a restaurant liable to have screaming children.

"I hear it's the International House of Pancakes," I report optimistically, trying to reassure us both.

She cracks a smile, and I grin back in relief.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:**

Twi-Muses interviewed me _(I know - I was surprised too)_, so if you want to read the highlights, the link in my profile. There's some good Rosebud stuff in there.

* * *

"**How old did you say you were?"**

"**Oh, I didn't say."**

"**I didn't think you did. If you had, I wouldn't have asked you because I'd have remembered. How old are you?"**

- Kane & Susan

* * *

**March 7, 2010**

_**Edward**_

Isabella stares at me with her bottom lip pinned firmly between her teeth. We're close together on her too-small bed, greedily gazing at each other in silence.

Since she is lying on her side, her ribbed tank top scoops down far enough to reveal the top of her breasts. Her eyes take in my nakedness with curious excitement, as if I'm some kind of science experiment. Her cheeks are flushed pink with anticipation.

I've started to wonder if Isabella is a deceptively innocent creature designed only to destroy all males. Kind of like candy cigarettes. Or Catholic schoolgirls.

She runs her pointer finger around my tip, making me shiver. I've been half-hard since before she even decided to touch me, thanks to her scrap of fabric that some sick person decided to call "shorts."

So when Isabella looked at me with big brown eyes, asking if she could play with my _thing_, I was unable to resist.

She seems unable to find a suitable name for my dick, so instead she calls it a _thing_, like it's the Loch Ness Monster or the frightening star of a B movie. And then she wonders why I don't think she's ready to have my _thing_ inside her.

Isabella repeats the previous circuit, this time even more gently. She carefully trails her finger down my shaft, looking up at me nervously as she practices her feather-light touch.

"What do I do?"

I throw my arm over my eyes, the frustration of being turned on mixing with the amusement of the situation. Isabella has the uncanny skill of making me feel like I'm corrupting her whenever we venture past kissing.

"You just _touch it_, goddammit," I laugh, voicing my thought a little too freely.

A soundless moment passes, and I realize that we no longer share any tingling, longing contact. I uncover my face, bringing my eyes back to Isabella. Her lip is being held captive again.

"Do you have to say the Lord's name in vain while I'm fornicating you? I'm starting to feel a little guilty here."

I would believe her words completely if it were not for the mischievous glint lighting up her face.

"Okay, that's it," I threaten. "No more fornicating for you."

Isabella squeals as I grab her, laying her down on the bed. I hover over her as she laughs.

I watch her eyes sparkle with amusement until she feels me, hard, against her thigh. Their transformation to lustful and dilated leaves me breathless.

She needs to stop looking at me like that. I'm about to combust.

"Are you ever going to sleep with me, Edward?" Isabella pouts, looking like she might pounce at any moment.

I run my thumb over her accentuated bottom lip, stopping when three words suddenly come unbidden to my mind. I'm so surprised that I can barely stop them before I make the most unromantic proposition ever.

_Marry me first._

* * *

**May 23, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I brush my lips against Isabella's bare skin, kissing over the subtle dips of her spine. She squirms beneath me on our bed, wriggling like a snake.

"Stop moving," I murmur against a small freckle near her shoulder, squeezing her hip as I place another kiss.

Isabella disobeys as she giggles, twisting her body even more.

"And stop laughing," I chuckle breathlessly. "You're hurting my ego."

She laughs harder, in protest.

"But it tickles!"

"Fine," I allow with sighed resignation. "I guess we should get up anyway."

I stand reluctantly, walking over to the closet. When I turn to ask Isabella what she wants to do today, she sits up, her body tangled up beautifully in the white sheet.

"Stay still," I murmur, picking up her camera bag on top of the desk.

Isabella looks at me questioningly as she ineffectively tries to blow the hair out of her face.

"This better not end up on a blog or something," she warns, only half-joking. Her body is covered up quite modestly, but she's probably worried about her ruffled hair.

"Hush," I chastise gently. "You look beautiful." _Stunning. Ethereal. Perfect..._

I look down at the weighty piece of technology in my hands, having no clue what to do with it. The lens cap is already off since Isabella lost it last week. I've been meaning to find her a new one.

I glance at Isabella apologetically.

"I..uh...the guy helped me pick it out." If I was one to blush, I would be doing so right now.

Isabella smiles kindly. "It's a point-and-shoot, just like your small one. It's already on automatic settings."

I nod with relief, finding the power button easily.

The camera makes a soft whirring sound as it starts up, and I try to decide which angle I should take this from.

I move to the side of the bed, and Isabella starts to turn so her body will face me. I don't know if it's a conscious decision, but we always seem to revolve around each other.

"Wait," I halt her, probably sounding a little too harsh due to my amateur portrait skills. "Right there. Can you just move slightly so you're looking at me?"

Isabella placates me, twisting so I can see both her bare back and her face. Her eyes peek over her shoulder, meeting the gaze of the lens.

I press down on the shutter button slightly, waiting for the shot to focus before I capture her small, secret smile.

"Just one more."

Isabella's grin widens as I use her trademark line.

* * *

**July 27, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I plug in and turn on Isabella's laptop, hoping that the pictures I took are saved with her favorites.

Looking through her computer like this makes me a little guilty, but I desperately want to see them.

If this doesn't work, I can always search through the millions of memory cards she has in her camera bag. Even though Isabella wasn't thrilled with the photos, I don't think she would have deleted them since she knew I wanted them.

I search for a folder designated solely for photos taken of Isabella, but I can't find any. So instead, I click on a folder called "Final," guessing that it might hold photos she plans to print.

I'm surprised when a large number of thumbnails show up that I haven't seen before.

There's a close-up of us that she took herself, when we were on the blanket in Sospel. My ear is cut out of the shot, and she's kissing my cheek.

A zoomed-in image of...my little toe? _It's too ugly to be Isabella's._

My eyelids closed in slumber.

My stupid, loved Scruff McGruff T-shirt.

A handful of photos taken of the house and garden.

Random things or places, Isabella's house, Forks...

But starting about halfway through, they are mostly of me.

Each photo is numbered manually, not using the typical file names that cameras give automatically.

_1, 2, 3, 4..._

I scroll all the way down, noting that there are 197 of them.

Knowing that this is probably nothing unusual, I still find the purposeful organization to be disconcerting.

I hear Sue cleaning in the spare upstairs bathroom as I enlarge random thumbnails. This afternoon, she unexpectedly showed up to make up for leaving yesterday. Things have been pretty stressed between us all day, but we still need each other.

"Hey, Sue?" I call, hoping that she might know something about this.

She enters the bedroom a moment later, wiping just-washed hands on her jeans.

I gesture toward the screen. "Can you look at this for me?"

She nods, not trying to hide her confused expression. When she gets closer, I get up so she can sit at the desk.

"I was just wondering if you knew what this file was."

Sue takes a minute to scroll through the pictures, making her way to the top of the window.

As she glances at my face, she seems to debate over whether she should tell me. She finally devotes her attention to the computer, her mind made up.

"It's called a 365 project."

* * *

**A/N:**

I thought this warranted my first ending note:

No, Edward did not propose right after Bella was done playing with his _thing_, haha. He likes to think himself more romantic than canon Edward. That's just when he thought to ask; the mind is a strange thing. And sex won't be used as a bargaining chip. Not purposefully, anyway.

See you at the next update, and thanks for reading. xoxo


	12. Chapter 12

_._

* * *

**"Is it a giraffe?"**

_**"No, it's not a giraffe."**_

**"****Oh, I bet it is."**

_**"...**__**What?"**_

**"Well, then, it's an elephant."**

_**"It's supposed to be a rooster."**_

- Susan & Kane

* * *

**May 23, 2010**

_**Edward**_

"That one looks like your nose," Isabella claims and points, giggling.

"It does not!" I defend, stealing a pensive glance at the wispy cloud in question.

She rolls onto her side, colliding with me as I remain on my back. I self-consciously touch the bridge of my nose before Isabella brushes away my hand.

"I like your nose," she soothes, kissing the top of it gently.

I smile up at Isabella until she moves, sitting upright on the grass. Her exploring eyes dart around the lawn.

"Oh, dandelions!" she announces when her gaze hits the other side of the yard. She gets up and grabs my hand, tugging on it impatiently.

I blink at her rapid movements, half-consciously standing to assist Isabella in her pulling.

I'm not sure why she is so excited about finding vermin on the edge of our property, but I trustingly follow her anyway. She leads me across the grass, through the sunlight sneaking past cloud shapes.

When we reach the patch of weeds, Isabella studies them carefully. There are a several yellow ones and two that are ready to lose their seeds.

She picks the white ones, bunching them together to make a mini bouquet.

My forehead creases slightly. "You think those are pretty?" I ask, failing to erase the hesitance in my tone.

_Maybe I'm screwing up when I buy her roses._

"No," she laughs. "They're lucky when you blow on them and scatter the seeds."

_Oh._

"Make a wish," she tells me, thrusting a dandelion into my hand.

I look at Isabella doubtfully. Her own half-dead plant is clasped tightly in one fist.

"Maybe I have everything I want."

"That's boring," she jibes, sitting down cross-legged on the lawn. A ray of sunlight hits her hair, revealing a natural streak of red.

"Well, what are you wishing for?"

"I can't tell you. It will ruin the wish." She leaves out the "duh," but it's written all over her face.

I purse my lips in amusement.

Part of me wants to kindly point out that she's only helping weeds propagate all over our new yard, but she looks so beautiful and happy under the sun.

I stare down at my dandelion thoughtfully.

I have a beautiful, wonderful wife. A generous income. We just bought our first house together...

What more could I need?

When I bring my gaze back to Isabella, her eyelids are already shut tightly in concentration. In the light, her black eyelashes provide an especially sharp contrast to the pale skin of her cheeks.

I watch her suck in a quick breath before immediately blowing it back out. White specks of plant fly off in slightly different directions, eager to complete their only task.

Isabella takes a stealthy half-peek at her efforts, noting that her dandelion still needs some work, before she tries again.

When her hand is proudly clutching a now-bare wishing tool, Isabella looks at me with expectant brown eyes.

So even though I don't believe in the magic of weeds, I make my own wish before freeing the seeds from their stem.

I wish that Isabella will tell me whatever she is wishing for, so I can give it to her.

* * *

**July 28, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I stir the ice cubes around with my straw, enjoying the satisfying clinking sound they make against the glass. They're those ice cubes that dip down in the middle to form a hole, creating a smooth indentation. When I was a kid, I liked to suck on them, pretending that my tongue would get stuck.

"So why did you ask me here, Edward? I know you hate me."

I reluctantly look away from my water and memories, meeting Rosalie's stare from across the table.

"I don't _hate_ you," I say truthfully.

I'm a sensible man. I know that hate should be reserved for truly evil things, like taxes. And the high-pitched keening of Evanescence.

Besides, I'm over the tiff I never voiced after she blabbed to the police. They are such morons that her "clue" couldn't have hurt their lacking productivity, anyway. Marcus is much better.

"Anyway, thanks for meeting with me," I continue, changing the subject as I arrange my napkin nervously. Since my eyes have already surveyed the only decent restaurant establishment in Forks - aside from the diner - I have little to focus on.

"I was hoping you could tell me some things about Isabella. Things I obviously missed."

My dry throat and mouth seem content with the brief explanation, so they produce no more sounds. It's rather sad that so few syllables can aptly sum up the cause of so many problems.

I await her reply with more napkin-picking and more downcast eyes.

When I hear none, I finally look up to see Rosalie gazing at me with something an awful lot like sympathy.

I rake my hair with one hand. Two hands. _Fuck_.

This must be bad. Rosalie Hale-Cullen does not _do_ sympathetic.

"Are you sure you want to hear this, Edward? She's already gone."

Unformed tears glitter in her ice-blue eyes, shocking me with their presence. I didn't know my sister-in-law was even capable of crying.

Rosalie fiddles with her red, self-manicured nails, keeping me from taking a closer look when she ducks her head.

Her rare vulnerability hardens my motivation even further.

"I'm _going_ to find her, Rosalie."

She lets out a decidedly harsh breath, trying to recover her unaffected persona for the outside world.

"Okay."

She looks up with more confident eyes, and I know it's both an answer to my reassurance and an answer to my request.

* * *

**May 28, 2010**

_**Bella**_

When the smell of Sue's cleaning supplies becomes too much to bear, I take my laptop upstairs so I can keep selecting my favorite thumbnails.

I walk over to our king-sized bed, picking up a few things on the way so Edward won't trip on them. He keeps reminding me that Sue can clean our room as well, but I like having one space where I know that everything will be exactly where I left it.

After I plop down to sit, I look up Jessica's number on my iPhone. I have yet to use my new gadget for anything but phone calls, and that kind of makes me feel like I'm disgracing the Apple brand or technology itself.

I consider the many apps that Edward uses as I wait for my friend to pick up. I know that she and Angela are both at work, but I also know that Jessica won't get in trouble for answering her cell.

"Hey, Bella," she greets cheerfully, the clattering of pans slightly skewing her words.

"Hey, Jess. What's up?" I ask, realizing with chagrin that I have nothing constructive to contribute to the conversation. I just miss her.

"Not too much. Just hanging out with Tyler. And working, as usual."

"How's the diner?"

"Not the same without you," she replies in a quieter tone. "Meg is trying her best, but she made the mistake of asking Mr. Thomas why he wanted soup for breakfast."

We both chuckle while I inwardly wish that I had better explained the patrons to my replacement.

"Don't worry," Jessica elaborates, probably sensing my anxiety. "I set her straight."

I hear a muffled voice speaking to Jessica as I distractedly open my laptop.

"Oh, I better go, _chica_," she apologizes. "Some orders just came in. But when are you going to come visit us? I want to hear all about France."

I do my best to mask the disappointment in my tone, knowing that I can call her some other time.

"I'll try to come next weekend. I'm hoping that Edward can coordinate a visit with his brother at the same time."

"Okay, just let me know when. Angela and I will make it work for us."

"Thanks, Jess. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye, Bella. Love you."

I return the sentiment and hang up, trying to fight the glum feeling rising inside me as I organize more photos.

I lie back against the throw pillows after I look at the time, hugging the softest one to my chest. Only one thought seems to cure my homesickness, so I repeat it over and over again.

_Edward will be home in an hour, and then everything will be okay._


	13. Chapter 13

_._

* * *

**"Excuse me, but my landlady prefers me to keep this door open when I have a gentleman caller."**

- Susan

* * *

**December 18, 2009**

_**Edward**_

"I don't want to go," I murmur, brazenly vulnerable. My fist clutches the strap of my duffel tighter, keeping my possessions from being whisked away to the nearby inn.

"I don't want you to go," Isabella admits in turn. Her eyes are hiding, focusing on her feet.

I glance briefly in the direction of the living room, as if I can see her couch from the awaiting doorway.

It will probably be terribly uncomfortable to sleep on, but knowing that she is above me, just a floor away...I can manage.

That is, if she asks me.

I send a hopeful look to Isabella, not even caring that I seem desperate.

I _am_ desperate for her. And it feels wonderful.

"Do you want to stay?" she asks, uncertain.

I nod too eagerly, and she smiles.

I graciously move toward the hall, to my self-designated sleeping quarters.

"Where are you going?"

I turn around, surprised by the alarm and confusion in her voice.

"The couch?" I answer hesitantly, suddenly unsure. Isabella shakes her head.

"You don't have to - you can come upstairs. My bed is small, but..." Her fingers twist and turn, creating a beautiful tangle.

"If you don't mind," I interject, hearing her struggle.

"I don't mind."

My upturned lips display my happiness when she starts up the steps, leading the way.

We walk into what I can only assume is her bedroom, since I have never seen it before. There are various clothes thrown about, but it's not very messy. Regardless, she hurries to hang the clean ones back up.

I take in her attire as she flutters around the room. Her starry-cotton pajama pants are slung low on her hips, revealing a sliver of skin below her tank top. The tapered pant legs end right above her ankles, betraying how long she's had them.

I look down at my pants and button-down. Isabella changed and got ready for bed while we were delaying my departure, so she's ahead of me in terms of nightly preparation.

"I'll just change in the bathroom," I tell her, gesturing toward the hallway.

"Okay," she agrees without looking, tossing a few items into a pink laundry basket.

When I reach her seashell-wallpapered bathroom, I unzip my bag, trading my shirt and pants for softer alternatives. It's fortunate that I packed pajama pants, not knowing if I would want to rely on the inn's bedspread for warmth. Something tells me that sleeping in boxers would create too much awkwardness for Isabella.

This is _all_ pretty awkward, but these are the dilemmas that arise when you're dating someone who lives four hours away.

I brush my teeth and return to her room, dropping my duffle near the door. Isabella is facing the bed, shifting her weight from one bare foot the other.

She turns when she hears me, seeming to immediately think better of it. Within the same second, Isabella returns to her previous position with a rapid spin on her heels.

We both stare at the bed hesitantly, as if it might sprout wings and come at us at any moment.

"Do you have a favorite side?" I ask to fill the silence.

_Do you have a favorite side? _

Nice, Cullen. What a question to ask a virgin.

At least, I think she is a virgin. Hope she is. _I want her to be only mine..._

I inwardly shake my head, trying to halt that line of thinking.

Unfortunately, Isabella chooses that moment to climb onto the bed, inspiring more caveman-esque thoughts.

She crawls over to the middle of the mattress before shrugging.

"I don't care either way. Do you?"

I look down, feigning indifference and really hoping it looks authentic.

_I want her. I want her and her starry-cotton pajama pants, too._

"No, you can pick."

Isabella turns off her bedside lamp and lies down on the right side of the bed. The room is noticeably darker, yet it's still slightly illuminated by the paper lantern near her door.

I sit down before mirroring Isabella's horizontal position. She's on her side, just like I am. But she's too far away.

I tell myself to relax as I pull her into my arms. _It's just like when we're standing up._

She molds to me perfectly.

My head rests in the crook of her neck as I surround myself with her strawberry scent. When my lips accidentally brush against her skin, I place an intentional kiss there.

"Edward?" Isabella's shaky question jolts me from my senses-rich heaven.

I pull away immediately, releasing her as if the warm skin scolded me.

_Fuck._ She probably thinks I was trying to seduce her or something.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly, hoping she won't ask me to leave. We'll just have to write a no-touching rule or something.

A blush invades her cheeks.

"No, it's fine. Really. I just...don't think I'll be able to sleep like that."

I smile softly, relieved by her reasoning. Then I scoot back obediently, giving Isabella a decent amount of room to call her own.

"No problem. Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

We stare at each other for a long moment, the quiet growing heavy.

_Can I give her a kiss goodnight? Will that be weird?_

Isabella's tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth, wetting her bottom lip. Teasing me with the thought of a taste.

_Oh, screw it._

I press my hand against the small of her back, pulling her in for a quick, forceful kiss. It's probably much too passionate for only our third embrace, but my body isn't listening to that little detail. It only knows that Isabella is soft and warm and mine.

When I release her, Isabella giggles as the redness of her cheeks returns with a vengeance.

_Is it wrong that I find her absolutely adorable when she's flustered?_

"_Goodnight_, Edward," she murmurs pointedly, closing her eyes. She pulls the covers up to her shoulder, snuggling deeper into the mattress. Her kiss-brightened lips release a sigh at the newfound comfort.

I remain awake as Isabella drifts off quickly, her body stilling except the even breaths circulating in her chest. Tiredness is creeping up on me as well, but looking at the beautiful woman next to me is much more entertaining than sleeping.

After a few minutes of witnessing her untroubled expressions, my eye catches a small paperback on her nightstand, and I carefully reach over her to grasp it.

My decision to read it is made up of both curiosity and strategy; Isabella is still such an anomaly, and I know that I could use any extra insight I can get.

Upon closer inspection, it's clearly a compilation of poems written by one author. There are several bookmarks marking worn, favorite pages, so I select one of those.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

I write you a note  
unsigned  
folded and tucked  
inside the novel  
you've been reading  
_Lord of the Flies_ or  
_Huckleberry Finn_ my  
heart pounding so hard  
I can't see straight.

Next day in homeroom  
your eyes look different.

All I want to say is:  
don't worry about  
any hidden meanings  
or crazy symbolism  
like in English class.

This note mean  
only what it says:

Springtime  
and I wish I knew you

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

_Did she love a boy in homeroom?_ I wonder, going over the words once more. The thought is unpleasant, so I push it aside. _Maybe she just likes reading about an innocent romance_. The written endearment is beautiful in that way.

I lay the book down and kiss Isabella on the forehead, the wistfulness of the poem staying with me.

I can think about this more tomorrow, but I need to get some rest so I won't be grumpy when I spend the day with her.

"Goodnight, angel," I murmur against brown hair as I wrap my arms around her gently. Now that Isabella is asleep, I see no harm in holding her close.

* * *

I wake up to the same darkness, slightly disoriented to find myself surrounded by Isabella. My body instinctively inclines slightly, just enough to take a glance at our connected forms. Our four legs are tangled together, spreading her warmth through me.

"Edward," she murmurs against my chest, stressing our close proximity. We're both still on our sides, having remained in that position after consciousness left us.

I look back at her face, expecting to find her eyes open, but only her pale-lavender lids are visible.

"Edward," she repeats, making my heart leap.

"I..."

I watch and listen, captivated, as she halts her sentence. I have a strange urge to rub her cheek, as if that will somehow coax the words out, but I don't want to wake her.

I study her peaceful expression reverently, silently willing her to share her thoughts. I so often wish to know what she is thinking, but now that she's said my name, this feels more urgent than usual.

Isabella's lips part, preparing for their next words as I wait with bated breath.

"...Pineapple king."

I use her purple pillow to smother my laugh, my rumbling chest jostling her head slightly.

_What?_

Isabella sighs and turns onto her back, no more sounds escaping her mouth. Her hair splays across the pillowcase in an elegant mess.

I lightly run my hand through her locks, barely resisting the previous desire to touch her face.

I know that the silly grin on my face will last until morning.

I'm just happy to be in her dreams.

Even if I am only produce royalty.

* * *

**June 20, 2010**

_**Edward**_

My bare feet slap lazily against the floor as I make my way to the kitchen, following the route my barely-awake nose has mapped out.

Even though I stayed in bed for far too long, I still feel like I could sleep longer. The familiar exhaustion is my own doing, as usual, since I always seem to stay up too late when I work in my office.

I spot Isabella standing at the marble counter, the origin of the wondrous smells placed in front of her. She's running a knife around the sides of a double-decker cake, spreading white frosting around and around.

Multicolored candles are scattered next to the sugary dessert. _Twenty-six of them_, I guess.

"Happy birthday!" Isabella exclaims, looking up at me for a moment. "Your friends from work will be over soon, for an early afternoon get-together," she says proudly. "Emmett and Rosalie, Esme and Carlisle, too."

"You remembered?" I ask rhetorically, excitedly. I'm pleasantly surprised. I have not mentioned my birthday in over a month.

Isabella pauses her cake decorating, stealing another glance.

"Of course I remembered," she chastises with a smile. "I love you."

The grin slowly drops from my face, but Isabella doesn't notice. She's too busy icing.

Since I have already dressed for the day, I turn toward the dining room, deciding to wait in there. I don't want Isabella to see my expression and think I'm not grateful for her efforts. While I never planned on a party, I have to admit that it will be nice to see everyone.

But Isabella's sentence is on repeat inside my head, masking any kind of joy that I should feel.

_Of course I remembered._

While her "I love you" seemed genuine enough, I can't help but wonder if that was a reference to last week's gallery incident.

_No. _Isabella is too kind to make a dig like that. Especially on my birthday.

_Right?_

"The paper is on the table," Isabella calls, her helpful announcement trailing after me as I approach a wooden chair.

I predictably sit down in front of The Seattle Times, just like I do when my world is totally intact.

As I start thumbing through the pages, I wonder how long I can get away with staying in here.

_Quite a while,_ I muse after staring at the newspaper for at least half an hour, not reading any of the potentially Pulitzer-worthy words.

I skim it for fairness' sake, gathering the rough ideas like one might do for a school report.

_There are wars. There are elections. There are election wars..._

The empty summarizing continues, uninterrupted, until I hear the doorbell ring.

I listen as Isabella plays the part of hostess, cheerfully welcoming the first guests inside.

"Where is Edward hiding?" Emmett loudly jokes, more accurately than he knows.

"I think he's in the dining room," Isabella answers, her softer voice muffled by the distance. "Rosalie, can you help me with my hair before everyone else arrives?"

"Sure, I need to finish my makeup, anyway. Have you ever tried to apply eyeliner in a moving vehicle?"

Isabella laughs, and I feel an irrational stab of disappointment because I'm not the one causing the sound.

Rosalie's high heels click on every step to the downstairs bathroom as Emmett's heavier footsteps grow nearer.

I wonder if he's wearing those dress shoes with the awful tassels. He promised he'd wear them at each holiday party this year.

More chimes from the doorbell ring out as Emmett enters the kitchen.

"Hey, Edward. Happy birthday!" my brother booms, jovial as ever.

I crack a smile as I stand. "Hey, Emmett."

He gives me a sturdy hug, slapping me on the back to make it more manly.

"Where are the munchkins?" I ask once he releases me. My brain is slowly catching up to the rest of me.

"They're at their babysitter's for the day. They don't do well with long car rides. Besides, they'd probably get into all sorts of trouble in this house."

He dons a purposeful frown before continuing. "But what gives, little brother? Why don't you visit us more often?" he asks, ruffling my already-ruffled hair.

"Sorry, I've just been busy," I offer lamely. The doorbell rings on repeat, so I work to block it out. The shrill sound is doing nothing for my nerves.

"You could always just send Bella Bee by herself. She hasn't started school yet, right? We'd probably have more fun that way, anyway."

Emmett studies me playfully, perhaps planning on messing up my hair some more, before his amusement ends. He must see the stress on my face since his own expression finally starts to mirror it.

"You okay? You know I'm just kidding, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

He lowers his voice, trying but failing to be discrete.

"Is married life treating you all right?"

"It's great," I say instinctively. The heavy dose of dread in my tone easily negates my claim.

I break away from Emmett's inquisitive blue eyes, looking down at his shoes with shame.

_No tassels_, I observe absentmindedly. Maybe Rosalie wouldn't let him.

"Hey, if you ever need -"

"Edward!" Esme interrupts, bursting into the dining room with all her pint-sized glory. "Happy birthday, sweetie."

Emmett looks at me nervously, his eyes still trying to convey his offer. I turn away uncomfortably, not knowing if anyone _can_ help me.

Esme is smiling at me with affectionate excitement, soothing my anxiety just a little.

"Hi, thanks for coming," I say genuinely, remembering my manners enough to give both Carlisle and Esme a hug. "I thought you guys were still on the island."

Esme nods conversationally. "We were, but we missed you boys and wanted to come for a visit. Now seemed like the perfect time, with your birthday and all. I know you usually don't make a big deal of it, so I was happy when your Isabella told us she had something planned."

Carlisle tours the room while Esme speaks, looking at various decorations for the first time.

"I see that the Three Musketeers are all here now," he points out.

I walk over to where Carlisle is standing, so I can see inside the living room. Heidi and Alec are sitting on one of the couches, having swapped their usual office wear for semi-casual clothes.

"Oh, yeah, Isabella invited them," I report, my voice trying to convey that it's my birthday and I couldn't be happier. All these people are here for me. I _should_ be happy.

But I'm terrified.

"We're ready to sing, everyone!" Isabella calls from an unseen location, causing my friends to stand.

I stay where I'm at as the rest of the guests are ushered into the dining room.

It's a surreal mess of _happy birthday_s, hugs, and one handshake from Alec because he is just classy like that.

I offer smiles and thanks for the sentiments, even though they are all blurring together.

Isabella carries in the white cake before setting it down on the table. She smiles at me, acting like we haven't been separated for the entire morning. Acting like that's not my fault.

Esme makes quick work of lighting the many candles, thanks to years of childhood celebrations and practice.

Compact digital cameras are aimed, ready to fire.

Emmett is still standing next to me, but Isabella has stepped into the crowd.

It's a small sea of friends and family and moving mouths.

They are probably singing, but I can't hear them.

Isabella is getting farther away.

With each step...

With every half-hearted smile...

Am I the only one who can see her fading?

It's torture, not knowing whether this gap between us is real or just imagined.

"Edward?" The sound of my brother's voice breaks through my silent, growing panic.

"Did you hear me?" he asks, his perpetually boyish grin in place once again. I can't tell if it's just for show.

My eyes flicker back to Isabella, who is now standing next to Rose. Not me.

"Hear what?" I ask distractedly, inadvertently answering Emmett's question.

His question doesn't matter when my wife is literally slipping away from me.

Emmett chuckles at my reply. "I _said_..."

He gestures to the flickering, melting candles. The fire engulfs them, threatening to destroy all the pretty wax colors.

"Make a wish."

* * *

**A/N: **

The lovely poem is called "The Note" by Ralph Fletcher. The compilation is _Room Enough for Love_. No copyright infringement intended and all that jazz.

Also, thanks to What The Fun for reading this over. And thanks for all the tweets, recs, and general pimpage being done for Rosebud. I appreciate it :)


	14. Chapter 14

_._

* * *

**"Gee, 11:30. The shows are just getting out. People are going to nightclubs and restaurants. Of course, we're different because we live in a **_**palace**_**."**

- Susan

* * *

**July 28, 2010**

_**Edward**_

"She thought you'd think it was silly."

"What?" I ask, completely dumbfounded. "Why? I've never suggested that her photos are silly."

Rosalie shrugs as she stabs at her salad.

"Maybe the project isn't as impressive when it's only partially done? I don't know, but they were all of you. Most of them, anyway. She might have been embarrassed about that."

"She was always holding that camera," I explain, needing to defend myself even though I've already lost the fight. My eyes scan the booth for something to do, coming up empty. I fleetingly wish that I had ordered food, just so I could pick at it.

"I'm glad she used it so much, since it was her present. But I thought she was just taking random pictures. I didn't know that there was a particular goal."

"I'm not blaming you for not knowing, Edward. Forgetting the date was your fault, of course. But for the project...Bella wanted to keep it to herself, so she did. If it means anything, she was going to show it to you when it was finished."

Rosalie's matter-of-fact words lower my hackles slightly, just enough that I can form my next words.

"Anything else?" I ask quietly, voicing my masochistic thought despite my instincts telling me not to.

"She was lonely," Rosalie answers simply, her tone holding a lot more accusation than before. "I don't think you thought about how it would be for her, alone in that big house, far away from her friends."

Rosalie gives me a pointed glance, and I find myself unable to ignore her latest criticism. _I live and work in Seattle. Just what were we supposed to do?_

"I know I work a lot," I allow, my voice dropping in pitch. "But I didn't _keep_ Isabella in the house, Rosalie. She had a car. She had lots of free time during the summer that she could spend any way she liked. It wasn't up to me to make those decisions for her."

"But Bella didn't want to go gallivanting around the city. She wanted to spend time with _you_. You're a smart guy. Shouldn't you have known that? It's a basic need in every relationship."

I rub my forehead, trying to fend off an incoming headache. Being angry at Rosalie won't help anything, even if she makes it so easy.

"Isabella was my first girlfriend _ever_, unless you count little Susan Parker from first grade," I share more diplomatically, imploring her to forgive my incompetence. "I'm still learning. Or I was."

The last three words scorch my throat on their way out, making the past tense downright painful. I take a generous sip of my water, realizing too late that it completely fails to soothe the burn.

"Ignorance is not an excuse," Rosalie huffs, like we're discussing traffic laws instead of my soul. I'm not particularly surprised at her insensitivity, but I secretly wonder if her ice-cold heart has an effect on her body temperature.

"Couldn't you have just punched me and told me to stop being an ass?" I ask, frustrated that no one spoke up. "If my failures were so obvious, why didn't anyone help us?"

"It wouldn't have been the same," she murmurs decisively, yet her fingertips don't seem so sure. They meticulously shred the edge of Rosalie's napkin as she avoids my sight.

I don't respond, choosing to study my melting ice cubes while my dinner date is occupied with her destruction. We must look like quite the pair to any outsider, with neither one of us focusing on the other.

Rosalie finally looks up at me after several awkward minutes, wiping the clingy, white specks of paper onto our booth. Since her judgmental glare is turned off at the moment, I wonder if this is her way of waving a white flag.

"I understand what you're saying," she concedes, sounding almost as exhausted as I feel. She picks up her empty lemonade glass with one hand, signaling to our waiter with the other. "And yeah, maybe she should have joined a book club or something. But all she wanted was you. Is that such a crime?"

* * *

**May 29, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I cover our snack bar with neat rows of takeout menus, trying to decide what I want to order for dinner. I'm almost ready to commit to Italian when Isabella walks into the kitchen, displaying a very short, purple-black dress with an uneven hem. Her hair is down, showing off its usual waves, but she has a little more makeup on than usual.

I shamelessly take in her exposed legs, my lust-sparked body already mourning the fact that she'll be going out soon. Oblivious to my ogling, Isabella quickly glances at the menus before making her way over to the fridge.

"You're not eating with Rosalie?" I ask, voicing my confusion when Isabella takes out a container of fruit salad. She grabs a piece of pineapple, easily skipping over the cantaloupe.

"We're going to a club," she corrects casually.

"Which one?" I wonder aloud, still trying to wrap my head around the foreign idea. I briefly wonder if she's joking, but she seems perfectly serious.

"I don't know," she answers once she's done chewing.

"Is Emmett at least going with you?" I hedge, feeling more than a little concerned about her safety. Especially when she's dressed like this.

Isabella's forehead becomes slightly furrowed; my confusion must be catchy. The grape between her thumb and pointer finger sits tight, still waiting to be eaten.

"No, Rosalie said it's a girls' night out." She gives me that look - the one that says this concept should be easily understood. "She doesn't really get along with Jessica or Angela, or else I would have had her bring them along as well."

Isabella playfully pops the grape into her mouth after her explanation, looking especially youthful.

The innocent reminder of her age washes over me like a bucket of cold water.

"Wait, how are you getting in when you're still underage?" I blurt out, surprising myself with my abruptness. I expect the words to lie between us uncomfortably, but Isabella is unconcerned.

"Oh, Rose said she knows the bouncer. He'll probably just let us in. Or he'll only glance at my ID real quick."

She shuns more cantaloupe, fishing for something better.

"_A fake ID_?" I clarify, my voice sounding oddly strained. _This plan is getting harder and harder to listen to by the moment._

A surprised laugh escapes Isabella's lips, immediately ruling out something so devious. "No, my real one."

"And you don't think he'll notice that your license is vertical instead of horizontal?" I try really hard to not sound condescending, but when Isabella looks up, I get the feeling that I've failed.

The fruit is set down on the island as we both realize that this has gone past small talk.

"I said she knows him," Isabella mumbles, clearly flustered by my too-logical questioning. She does an awkward half-shrug, nervously glancing down at her indigo ballet flats.

I walk closer, tired of the distance between us.

"Isabella..." I trail hesitantly, not wanting to make her feel bad.

"I know it sounds like an awful idea, but I promise I won't drink," she bargains, imploring me with her kind voice and face.

"The papers and tabloids will have a field day with this if they find out," I point out softly, voicing my most selfish reasoning. "Someone might recognize you and take pictures. Half the city knows how young you are."

Our conversation is interrupted by Isabella's ringing iPhone, no doubt announcing her friend's arrival. I speak over the jaunty tune of the latest pop song as Isabella pulls it out of her small purse.

"It's your choice, of course, but I'm asking you to please go to dinner or do anything legal instead. For me."

I try to convince her with my eyes, hoping that Rosalie won't give her a hard time if she takes my advice. There are just so many ways that this fun night could turn into a disaster.

Isabella looks down at her illuminated cell with a conflicted expression, keeping it in her grasp as the cheerful music dies.

After about a minute of silence, she stands up tall on the tips of her toes, mimicking my height without meeting my gaze. Her nose brushes my cheek before she places a petal-light kiss there.

I feel the whispered acquiescence more than I can hear it.

"Okay."

* * *

**June 12, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I gently sit down on the mattress, freshly showered and ready for bed. Isabella is lying down with her eyes closed, so I don't want to jostle her if she's asleep.

I whisper her name, guessing that she drifted off while I was in bathroom. Unsurprised at receiving no reply, I turn off the overhead light that's glaring down on her eyelids.

Since her body is spread out on top of the comforter, I cover Isabella's legs with a spare, woven blanket. Our ridiculously high ceilings definitely have their downside, even during summer. And while I'll be fine in my boxers and T-shirt, Isabella gets chilled whenever she wears pretty things to bed.

I opt to stay on top of the covers as I lie down, keeping the side of my body flush against the gold material.

I reach my hand out to encompass Isabella's waist, intent on bringing myself closer. But my fingers are only able to brush her nightgown before she rolls onto her side, facing away from me.

I could easily pass it off as an unconscious, unthinking decision. Except...her movement was too neat. Too direct.

And her breaths are uneven, just like the beats of my suddenly leaden heart.

Realization collides with me brutally, forcing me back onto the cold side of the bed.

I immediately want to take back my observations, demanding a prompt exchange: reality for ignorance.

Anything to keep the thousand knives from digging deeper into my chest. Anything to stop the guilt that's eating up my sore, inexperienced heart.

My middle finger's nail digs into the skin of my thumb, trying to steal attention from the pain coursing through my torso.

In a tragic way, this is actually an appropriate end to the day.

From Isabella's pecked goodbye kiss this morning to her raved-about pasta at dinner, everything was on schedule. But with every second of nearness, a dark undercurrent flowed between us. I've felt it brewing before, but always in much smaller quantities.

The warning was hidden beneath the cover of newlywed love, but it was there. I foolishly hoped it was only my pessimism breaking through, bitterly trying to hold me back.

I look over at the flower I've managed to dim in such a short time.

Even though our problems started early on, I still desperately need to go back to yesterday, before sunset and broken and "sign here, please."

But no wants or wishes will change the aching truth of the moment:

Isabella's back is still turned, displaying the silky blue fabric I bought her. And she is very much awake.

* * *

**A/N:**

Thanks to What The Fun for prereading this.

I made a timeline of past chapters. I hope it helps if you're feeling lost:

...

Meet at diner - November 22, 2009 (Chapter 2)

First date - December 6, 2009 (Chapter 3)

Edward sleeps at Bella's for the first time - December 18, 2009 (Chapter 13)

Cockblocked by Benny - January 16, 2010 (Chapter 6)

Bella tells Edward that she loves him...when he's asleep - January 30, 2010 (Chapter 8)

Bella cries after burning surprise breakfast - February 14, 2010 (Chapter 10)

Humorous handjob and "Marry me first" thought - March 7, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Pick out house - April 15, 2010 (Chapter 9)

Prenup discussed after a night out - April 17, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Honeymoon moment in Sospel - May 4, 2010 (Chapter 7)

Edward takes a photo of Bella - May 23, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Dandelion wishes - May 23, 2010 (Chapter 12)

Bella tells Sue about 365 project - May 28, 2010 (Chapter 8)

Bella's lonely phone call to Jessica - May 28, 2010 (Chapter 12)

**Bella stays home instead of going to club - May 29, 2010 (Chapter 14)**

Edward misses gallery date - June 11, 2010 (Chapter 10)

**Bella pretends to be asleep - June 12, 2010 (Chapter 14)**

Edward's birthday party - June 20, 2010 (Chapter 13)

Meet with lawyers - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 1)

Last time Edward saw Bella - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Edward sees newscast - July 20, 2010 (Chapter 1)

Edward is interviewed by Mike - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 3)

Edward hires Marcus to investigate - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Edward messes with Mike - July 24, 2010 (Chapter 5)

Edward finds Benny in bedroom and breaks down - July 24, 2010 (Chapter 6 and 7)

Sue tells off Edward - July 26, 2010 (Chapter 9)

Edward finds 365 project - July 27, 2010 (Chapter 11)

**Edward meets with Rosalie - July 28, 2010 (Chapter 12 and 14)**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:**

Thank you to What The Fun for prereading, even while on vacation :)

* * *

**"Sentimental fellow, aren't you?"**

- Thompson

* * *

**May 1, 2010**

_**Bella**_

"I think you should have unlocked the door before you picked me up," I observe teasingly.

"Shh. I didn't think of that at the time."

"Well, just put me down now and do it," I suggest, mid-laugh.

"I can't," Edward insists. "A second try might negate the whole point."

"What _is_ the point, again?"

"I think it's supposed to ward off bad luck. That includes keeping you from tripping through the doorway."

I tighten my arms around his neck.

"Actually, that does sound like something I might do."

He kisses my forehead, juggling me and the key that he has finally retrieved from his pocket.

"Exactly."

My head turns toward the knob when his hand stills, no longer smashing metal against metal.

"Oh! Did you..."

"Yep. I got it." His voice is so proud.

Edward pushes open the door, successfully bringing us into the house. He gently sets me down without any encouragement or threats, showing how fatigued he is after our dilemma.

I'm barely steady on my feet when Edward is leapt on, forced to accept an embrace.

The attacker is a woman somewhere between middle and old age, speaking quickly in what I assume is French. She's in crisp and attractive clothing, though it is probably becoming more wrinkled by the second.

I watch, wide-eyed, as my husband is hugged and peppered with cheek kisses. If this woman was twenty years younger, I'd totally be jealous. But as she is not, I settle for being thoroughly befuddled.

She ruffles Edward's unruly hair, displaying undeniable maternal affection. Edward makes a show of swatting at her hand, but in reality, he doesn't even let himself make contact.

My lips turn up at their adorable display, but I can't hide the fact that I'm confused. The stranger is still spouting out words I have no comprehension of, highlighting how worthless my foreign language skills are right now.

I only know some high school Spanish, since the subject lured me in with promises of fun and fiestas.

_Damn it._

Edward's eyes catch mine as he looks over her shoulder, witnessing my fidgeting. His expression turns apologetic as he leads her back to the doorway. With all the excitement, their feet have taken them a considerable distance.

Edward wraps one arm around my middle as the woman stands across from us, studying me closely...spaghetti straps, Keds and all. Even though she seems friendly, I still feel a little uncomfortable. It's obvious that they have known each other a long time, and I can't help but feel that she's sizing me up.

Edward pulls me closer, easing my anxiety just a little.

"Carmen," he introduces before gesturing to me proudly. "Ma belle femme."

"Ah, Isabella! Bienvenue à Nice!"

_Uh..._

"She speaks English, too," Edward whispers against my ear. I smile gratefully.

"Hello, Carmen."

She smiles back, continuing on in American English. She must sense that I don't want to play, since I didn't even feel comfortable enough to offer a _bonjour_.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude earlier. After hearing Edward talk about his Isabella so much, it is great to finally meet you," she says kindly. Fortunately, I'm unable to detect an insincere syllable.

"Everything is ready for you both. The kitchen is stocked, clean towels are in the closet, the room is finished... I think you will really like what we did with it. We decided on blue walls and a new floor the color of _sable.._."

Carmen runs a hand through her gray-streaked hair as she trails off, emphasizing the dichotomy between her age and youthful personality.

"Eli is shopping right now, but I'm sure you will run into him later - only if you want to, of course. We want to give you your privacy, so just stop by and visit us whenever you need something or when you get lonely," she continues cheerfully, stopping to regard the two of us fondly. I wonder if she can see the red tint to my cheeks.

"Thank you, Carmen. We will," Edward assures.

"Good. Oh, I'm so happy you're here!"

Perhaps sensing my bewilderment, Carmen simply grasps my hand before giving Edward one last kiss on the cheek. Then, like a sudden storm, she's gone.

Edward tugs on my freshly-squeezed hand, encouraging me to follow him once she's out of sight. I obey, still feeling slightly dazed. The red-eye flight must have worn me too thin.

"Carmen and her husband live in the guest house year-round, keeping an eye on the property," Edward explains as we walk toward the living room. "I asked her to redecorate the spare room so it would be more relaxing. It's always been used for storage, so no one ever bothered to get rid of the ugly wallpaper."

He opens the bedroom door once we reach it, letting me step inside first. I'm more interested in seeing the space than I'll admit, secretly having watched too many home decorating shows on TLC.

Being drawn to the colors right away, I notice that the ceiling and walls are a sky blue. Where one might otherwise find crown molding, swipes of sponged, white paint exist.

Edward looks around, admiring the furniture at the same time I do. It's made of hardwood and wicker, all pulled together with splashes of green-like-his-eyes.

I glance near my feet, at the beige, wooden floor that resembles a soft beach.

We could probably build sandcastles with moats in here, and nothing would look out of place.

My gaze turns toward the large canopy bed, remaining there for far too long.

I know I should be thinking about doing dirty, dirty things on it, but all I can see is how soft and cushy it is. Because that heavenly bed will be a perfect cure for my fatigue-induced teetering.

Silly or not, I just couldn't seem to let myself sleep through my first plane ride.

I look over at Edward, hoping he'll understand. We've waited so long; I'd really like to be awake when we finally have sex.

He nods and smiles kindly, only a bit of disappointment seeping through. My lusty stare at the pillows has not gone unnoticed.

"Nap?" he prompts, slipping his arm around my waist in an encouraging gesture.

I smile back, my mind already going over wonderfully sordid ways to thank him later.

"Nap."

* * *

**May 5, 2010**

_**Bella**_

Edward kisses me sweetly and chastely, silently decorating my face with a million little _I love you_s.

He stops every now and again, taking quick, brazen peeks at my bikini as he hovers over my body.

I squirm when his hands roam over the side of my breast and my ribs, tickling them slightly. I love his reverent attentions, but I definitely need more.

Grabbing a fistful of hair, I bring his lips to mine with a lot more force. Edward appeases my impatience in turn, firmly pressing against me to regain dominance.

He shifts slightly, moving until I feel his knee pressing between my legs. My whole body hums when I instinctively bring my hips forward, strengthening the contact.

I'm lost in blissful, buzzing nerve endings when Edward suddenly flips us over, letting his back take the brunt of the hard rocks beneath us. I brace myself with both arms as my knees straddle him, complying with the new position of our bodies. I barely have time to note my new location before his mouth is on mine again.

It's harsh and fast and dizzying, spinning me around until I don't know which way is up.

I greedily pull his pink lip into my mouth, claiming it as my own. I'm determined to ravage his mouth just like he's ravaging mine.

Hands glide over my waist and neck, grasping my sunscreen-slick skin. They pull me closer, tugging until I'm practically lying on top of Edward. My torso collides with his, immediately doubling my warmth.

The sun's rays beat down on my back, trying but failing to rival the heat of his touch. It feels as though our love just might burn us up, but that would be perfectly okay.

Teasing fingers move to my hips, toying with the silly strings of my bikini bottoms. Sliding under, lingering there as if Edward is tempted to remove the piece altogether. I whimper, unable to think of any reason that he shouldn't.

Reluctantly breaking the kiss for air, I gasp when my head is hit by something big, bouncy and...buoyant?

I climb-stumble off the body I'm perched on, completely missing our layered towels when I land. My sun-flushed, Edward-flushed cheeks are much warmer than the gray pebbles beneath my knees.

The reality of the situation hits me as I look around in confusion.

This isn't Edward slipping his hand into my jeans, exploring my body as we share secrets in my bedroom. This is a very crowded beach with at least two giggling little boys, their beach ball and a glaring mother.

_Maybe a private stretch of sand wasn't such a bad idea._

I glance at Edward, itching for his inevitable plan of action.

The sun is bright behind his head, creating a halo of radiance that highlights the edges of his reddish-brown hair. The color reminds me of a shiny penny. The love-drunk smile on his face reminds me of us.

I break free of the imagery after a moment, our problematic situation coming back to mind. My shock diminishes the more I think of what's happened, making room for a giggle that sneaks its way past my lips.

I immediately slap my hand over my mouth to hush the noise, trying to find my manners or at least my age. But there is no use. My outburst has grown into a full-fledged, making-way-too-much-noise laugh that no fingers can contain.

Edward looks at me with amused bewilderment, his expression emanating curiosity.

The sour mother is still glaring, the blond boys still giggling.

I think about weaving a story about mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but I really doubt she'll buy it. And Edward is gorgeous, but absolutely no help.

_Escape is the only option._

I hurriedly slip on my tank top, shades and sandals before I sprint, guaranteeing a head start. I run-skip in the direction of the house, the uncontrollable laughs hindering my speed.

Edward chases after me fast, keeping our towels bunched under one arm as he catches up in no time.

He grabs my hand once we're side-by-side, and I kind of regret not letting him capture me sooner.

He's still smiling, his rosy cheeks looking plump and boyish.

I don't hide my eagerness as I tug on our laced fingers, willing our legs to carry us faster. Needing to be enclosed in four walls so I can pounce.

There is no reason to be out in public when I can paw at my husband in the privacy of our own home.

I'm a woman on a mission, only aware of other tourists and residents when I have to dodge them. Maybe I should be chagrined, but concern is impossible. We're running too fast for any negative comments to reach us.

Edward somehow manages to trump my enthusiasm, leading the way to the boardwalk. We make contact with the pavement at the same time, forming a single entity as we travel over the pretty, burnt color.

With feet flip-flopping against the ground in a steady beat, we leave the beach, world and disapproving stares far behind us.

* * *

**A/N:**

_Ma belle femme_ = My beautiful wife

_Bienvenue _à_ Nice_ = Welcome to Nice

_sable_ = sand

Please feel free to point out any typos if you find them. The update schedule is looking like every other week.

xoxo


	16. Chapter 16

_._

* * *

**"I don't know how to run a newspaper, Mr. Thatcher. I just try everything I can think of."**

- Kane

* * *

**May 27, 2010**

_**Edward**_

"Do you think they'll sell?" Alec asks as the three of us sit down at our usual picnic table.

"I sure hope so," I answer. "The company has great potential if we buy it."

I take my lunch out of its insulated container, gazing appreciatively at the monstrous sandwich in my hand.

Alec sighs, clearly envious. "I wish my wife packed me lunches like that."

"You wish your wife was as pretty as Isabella, too," Heidi jibes, smoothing out her skirt.

"Isabella is more than just a pretty cook," I defend, completely serious now.

"We know, we know," Heidi placates tiredly. She studies me while munching on her sliced vegetables and dip, titling her head to the side. "Cullen in love. I never thought I'd see it."

I feign hurt, placing a hand over my heart. "What? You think I'm unlovable?"

"No, I think you're plenty lovable." She points a carrot stick at me accusingly. "That's the problem. It makes it impossible to hate you."

"Ha ha," I remark dryly, suddenly uncomfortable with her reasoning. "Now put that carrot down, or I'll have my celery and peanut butter kick its ass." I hold the aforementioned plastic baggy up menacingly.

"Whatever." Heidi rolls her violet-blue eyes, and we move back into our conversation about acquisitions.

* * *

**July 29, 2010**

_**Edward**_

Applause bounces off the walls, celebrating the plundering of our latest conquest.

The noise hurts my head, or maybe it's just the high level of happiness. A traitorous thought quickly points out that _I_ was the one who encouraged this excited, back-slapping camaraderie.

Anna smiles shyly yet widely, taking in the scene. She glances at me from across the massive desk, making eye contact as everyone stands.

Anna is new; Anna is different. She looks at me like she hasn't obtained my life story from Google, let alone the news within the last few weeks.

It's understandable, considering the fact that she has been occupied with her last-minute move from the East Coast. Being quiet, she has also somehow escaped warnings from the gossip hounds.

It's really their loss; Anna would make a great friend. She's made up of youth, brown hair and bright eyes, exuding an almost sickening amount of kindness. She's also smart; that's why she's here.

I walk over, trying to polite to my newest employee. Since I selfishly plucked her out of her hometown, I really should be more welcoming.

"Hello, Mr. Cullen," she greets cheerfully. The lack of pity is refreshing.

I return her greeting, drudging up as much charm as possible.

"I hope your first week is going well," I say conversationally, looking over at Demetri. He's near the doorway, talking with Heidi.

"It's going great. Demetri is doing a good job of showing me around," she assures. "I can't wait until I can help with the next sale."

"Do you and your husband like Seattle so far?" I feel a little proud that I remembered that detail about her, even though I don't expect her to offer anything personal about her marriage. Asking just makes me feel more human.

Anna keeps smiling as she tucks some hair behind her ear, humoring my small talk. If she notices how distracted I am, she doesn't mention it.

"I love it so far. Dan isn't happy about finding a new cooking job, but he'll be okay. He knows that the move was for the both of us, and..." she trails off, probably uncomfortable with how much she's shared with her boss. She quickly rearranges her face, creating a more hopeful expression.

"It's days like these that make it all worth it, right?" she asks rhetorically, gesturing to the huddles of successful people around us.

I smile politely, unwilling to taint her mood with the truth. She wants me to say that all the sacrifices are worth it, but... _no, they're not_.

* * *

**July 7, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I study my favorite picture of Isabella on my iPhone, regretting that her peaceful expression is a thing of the past.

I know that I'll have to end it soon, for the sake of both of us. She's miserable, which makes me miserable...

It's an endless cycle because I can't make her happy. I've tried so hard to do everything right, but I still managed to make a mess of things.

Alec's greeting startles me, causing me to drop my phone onto my desk. The clattering noise elevates my nerves, but I'm thankful for the distraction.

"Are you okay?" he asks, frowning slightly as he walks closer. I hurriedly pick up my impromptu photo album, moving it out of sight.

"I'm fine."

He doesn't look convinced, but I can't blame him. My "cool and collected" persona has been lacking for some time now.

"I was just wondering... I have a few tickets that I'm not going to use, for a carnival. Would you be interested?"

"A carnival?" I repeat hopefully. _Isabella likes carnivals._ They make her smile, even when I can't.

He pulls the tickets out of his pocket and flips through them with his thumb.

"Yeah, for Friday. You can go after work, but my sister said it will probably be less crowded earlier in the day. I won't go because I hate the rides."

I run though Friday in my mind, looking for any potential conflicts. There are a few things scheduled, but I can push them back.

This might actually be the perfect way to show Isabella that she's important to me. And if we can get along and really enjoy ourselves, maybe that means that there is hope for us after all.

"That would be perfect, actually. Thank you."

He stops playing with the tickets, offering them to my outstretched hand instead. I look down at the passes immediately, eager to read the event details.

"Thanks, Alec. Really. This is great."

"You're welcome," he says softly, sounding a little taken aback by my sudden enthusiasm. "I had a feeling you would like them."

We don't say anything else for a long time, but my mind is too busy to assign any awkwardness to the silence.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow," he finally says, announcing his exit as politely as possible.

"Bye, Alec. Thanks again," I reply distractedly, eyes still on the tickets. They just look like insignificant pieces of paper, but they will be my last lifeline, my last thread of hope.

A last effort.

* * *

**May 22, 2010**

_**Edward**_

Isabella throws her hair into another quick ponytail, knowing that the next ride will just mess it up again.

I grab her hand not only out of affection, but because I need her to ground me.

"One more?" I ask, taking in the flashing lights.

She smiles and nods. Her upturned lips are stained blue-raspberry from the lollipop I won. I have no idea what a bright blue raspberry would taste like, but on Isabella, the imitation is delicious.

She keeps her hand in mine, leading me to the next choice. Since there aren't many people here, it's easy to pretend that the park is open just for us.

We're dizzy and barely able to stand, but we don't mind.

Being lovesick feels so good.

* * *

**A/N:**

Big thanks to What The Fun for prereading [and putting up with my million versions of one sentence]. And as always, thanks for reading.

The updated timeline is below.

...

Meet at diner - November 22, 2009 (Chapter 2)

First date - December 6, 2009 (Chapter 3)

Edward sleeps at Bella's for the first time - December 18, 2009 (Chapter 13)

Cockblocked by Benny - January 16, 2010 (Chapter 6)

Bella tells Edward that she loves him...when he's asleep - January 30, 2010 (Chapter 8)

Bella cries after burning surprise breakfast - February 14, 2010 (Chapter 10)

Humorous handjob and "Marry me first" thought - March 7, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Pick out house - April 15, 2010 (Chapter 9)

Prenup discussed after a night out - April 17, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Marry - April 30, 2010 (implied in Chapter 15)

Arrive at Nice, France for honeymoon - May 1, 2010 (Chapter 15)

Honeymoon moment in Sospel - May 4, 2010 (Chapter 7)

Honeymoon beach makeout - May 5, 2010 (Chapter 15)

**Amusement park (back in Washington) - May 22, 2010 (Chapter 16)**

Edward takes a photo of Bella - May 23, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Dandelion wishes - May 23, 2010 (Chapter 12)

**Edward's lunch break with Alec and Heidi - May 27, 2010 (Chapter 16)**

Bella tells Sue about 365 project - May 28, 2010 (Chapter 8)

Bella's lonely phone call to Jessica - May 28, 2010 (Chapter 12)

Bella stays home instead of going to club - May 29, 2010 (Chapter 14)

Edward misses gallery date - June 11, 2010 (Chapter 10)

Bella pretends to be asleep - June 12, 2010 (Chapter 14)

Edward's birthday party - June 20, 2010 (Chapter 13)

**Edward plans carnival date - July 7, 2010 (Chapter 16)**

Meet with lawyers - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 1)

Last time Edward saw Bella - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Edward sees newscast - July 20, 2010 (Chapter 1)

Edward is interviewed by Mike - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 3)

Edward hires Marcus to investigate - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Edward messes with Mike - July 24, 2010 (Chapter 5)

Edward finds Benny in bedroom and breaks down - July 24, 2010 (Chapter 6 and 7)

Sue tells off Edward - July 26, 2010 (Chapter 9)

Edward finds 365 project - July 27, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Edward meets with Rosalie - July 28, 2010 (Chapter 12 and 14)

**Edward's meeting with employees - July 29, 2010 (Chapter 16)**


	17. Chapter 17

_._**  
**

* * *

**"A toast, Jedediah: to love on my own terms."**

- Kane

* * *

**July 12, 2010**

_**Bella**_

"Isabella, I don't think this is working out."

I flinch as I study Edward's face more closely. His eyes have never looked this cold, as detached and neutral as glass.

They make me feel so small.

I repeat his words in my head, an absurd amount of dread growing from just that one sentence. I'm about to ask _what_ isn't working out, but he beats me to it.

"_Us_."

"But we're married," I say dumbly, as if my realization negates his sentence entirely. As if he's somehow forgotten that he promised to love me forever.

I don't understand.

_Not working out?_

That's what Tyler told Lauren Mallory when she threw up on him after prom. That's not what you say to your _wife_.

My mind runs through all the possible reasons, coming up blank.

"Is it the mess? I promise to let Sue clean our room." It's a senseless plea, but I can't stop it. I have to say something. I have to know exactly what I did wrong.

His eyes change from emotionless to pained in a matter of seconds.

"No, it's not the mess." His voice is deathly quiet.

_Is he going to make me guess?_

"Or is it _someone_...?" The thought is too painful to complete, but Edward finishes it for me.

"_No_," he says more firmly, emphatically. "It's nothing like that. It's just... You're _not happy. _I hear you crying at night..."

I open my mouth to refute the statement, only to close it again.

It's true; I'm not happy.

But I could be. _It's just a phase, until I'm busier... Until..._

Tears form against my will, increasing the ire I feel toward my uncontrollable emotions. _He was never supposed to know that I was crying._

I've tried so hard to please him, even while I was falling apart. And all this time, I was willing to fight through the rough spots because I thought he was.

Edward is staring at me like he wants me to say something, like he wants me to deny his claim.

I want to tell him the main reason _why_ I've been so unhappy. I want to beg and plead for him to fix it, but I can't. I won't.

I shouldn't have to ask him to spend time with me. He should want to do that all by himself.

My eyes dart around the foyer for something to settle on, finally deciding on the stupid, uncomfortable bench that he asked me to sit on. Having picked it out for its looks, I don't think we ever expected anyone to actually use it.

I feel crowded and oddly embarrassed, but I can't move. Moving means that this is real, and someday soon, at least one of us will keep moving until we're nothing.

So I sit still, memorizing the fabric pattern and diligently waiting for words I'll never hear. Nowhere else is safe for my eyes.

I can't look at his face, and I definitely can't look at the upstairs landing.

That will only remind me that there are four bedrooms up there. And we really didn't need them after all.

* * *

**April 10, 2010**

_**Bella**_

"I love how they include the nutritional information for the _unpopped_ popcorn as well, as if someone will just eat the hard kernels," I observe, tossing a popped one into my mouth.

"Hey. Speak for yourself," Edward huffs playfully, reaching for the bag.

"No way."

I swat his hand away, not wanting him to hurt his teeth. _Plus, that sounds really, really gross._

"I'll just suck on it," he reasons. It's disturbing that I can't figure out if he's joking.

"Eww."

"Like you haven't before."

"_No_, I have not," I vow, nearly offended.

He gets that annoying look on his face that says "_Sure you haven't_," so I give him my best scowl, trying to look really menacing.

I'd throw my popcorn at him, but it's kind of the only food we have available.

Edward smiles at my attempted angry face, seeming to have the same thought.

"I guess we should have eaten before we packed up most of the cupboards, huh?" His chagrin is even more adorable when he adds in a grin.

"If you don't want to reopen the boxes, we could eat at the diner," I offer, content to keep staring at him. "Jessica is working, and I'd like to say goodbye."

"Do you want to go now?"

I glance at my desk to check my nonexistent progress. "Maybe we can take a break after I finish emptying this."

"Sure. I'll just finish up with the kitchen," Edward says, standing up. He makes it to the door before he turns around, walking back to where I'm sitting on the floor.

"Wha-" I start to ask, stopping when he bends down to kiss my forehead.

_Oh._

"I love you," he reminds me. I smile up at him, touched by his simple gesture.

"I love you, too."

I watch Edward leave, sighing before finally focusing on my task. One drawer only has papers and notebooks inside, so I simply grip the entire pile before dropping it into my box. Unfortunately, the next drawer doesn't go as quickly because it's full of tiny things I forgot I even owned.

I'm almost at the bottom of the mess when my hand retreats, recognizing the feeling of a beaded picture frame. I consider just leaving it inside, but an ever-increasing part of me is morbidly curious.

Finally telling myself that ignoring it would be childish, I carefully pick up the homemade item, peeking at the family photo inside.

The smiles on the three of us look genuine, but the picture is painful in its antiquity. Even now, it's hard to acknowledge that I'm looking at a piece of history, to admit that this family unit and these happy people no longer exist.

It was easier to pretend when I was younger. I would look at this picture, and for a few moments, I could pretend that we were all together. That my mother didn't _really_ leave us when I was eleven.

My eyes sting as I run my fingers over the glass, not minding that I'm smudging it. _Maybe I should have left it in the drawer after all._

"Isabella?"

I jump slightly, spotting Edward in the doorway when I turn my head.

He looks worried, and I have to wonder how long I've been sitting here.

"Sorry," I say as he walks closer.

I don't know what I'm apologizing for, but it seems like the right thing to do. Maybe it's for falling apart in front of him yet again.

Edward sits down and looks at the frame more closely, not seeming surprised at its contents. He wraps an arm around my shoulder, bringing me flush against his side.

"You don't have to be sorry."

He rubs my arm soothingly, giving me time to sort my thoughts. The silence is peaceful until I choose to interrupt it, dreading my own words.

"We'll have to invite her to the wedding," I mumble, still looking at the picture. "Renee has always been a 'twice a year' kind of mother. She expects some attention during any holiday or occasion worthy of a Hallmark card_._

"Occasions in _my_ life, anyway," I amend quickly. "She's never expected Mother's Day cards or anything. Thank God."

"We don't have to invite her," Edward disagrees. "You don't even have to tell her if you don't want to."

I shake my head. "No, it will be nice to have family there...maybe," I murmur, not yet fully convinced.

"When's the last time you saw her?" Edward asks hesitantly, and I can't help but cringe at the memory.

"A little over a year ago. After my dad..."

I don't want to finish, so I'm thankful when Edward gently relaxes my fingers' hold on the frame. He gingerly places it in the box, on top of all the other random things.

I'm much calmer once he lifts me onto his lap, letting me rest against his chest. Making me feel safe in that way I'm still not used to.

I let out a deep breath as Edward's hand runs up and down my back, soothing and exciting the skin all at once.

"We can create our own family," he whispers against my hair. His voice is quiet but fervent, allowing for no contradictions.

My heart warms at his words, and for a long moment, all I can think about is Edward's scent, his heartbeat. The way he makes my own heart beat double-time. For a few seconds - while I'm held close and loved and _known_ - I let myself wonder if this is what perfect is.

All plans for the diner are forgotten when I close my eyes, the emotional and physical exhaustion of the day finally catching up to me. Edward doesn't cease his gentle movements against my back, easily lulling me to somewhere between consciousness and slumber.

I'm so relaxed that I can almost ignore the voice nagging in the back of my mind, whispering wary words as I drift:

_Don't promise me anything._

* * *

**A/N:**

Thanks again to What The Fun.

xoxo


	18. Chapter 18

_._

* * *

**"Kane helped to change the world, but Kane's world now is history."**

- _Newsreel_

* * *

**July 12, 2010**

_**Edward**_

My shoe taps softly against the floor, creating an anxious noise that I quickly silence.

I shift slightly on the bench, definitely feeling the effects of sitting here for over an hour. I probably should have picked something more comfortable to sit on. _Or maybe I shouldn't be sitting here at all._

I shake my head, trying to shake out the thought.

_No_, this is the right thing to do. And this is a perfectly acceptable place to sit. It's neutral, so there are no good memories to taint.

My heartbeat picks up when Isabella finally starts to walk down the stairs. She can't see me because her eyes are carefully trained on her feet. It's an endearing habit she's held onto the entire time I've known her, as if staring at her clumsy appendages will make them behave.

I find my voice when she is almost at the bottom, wishing that I had more time.

"Isabella?"

She brings her head up slowly, meeting my gaze with her own wary stare.

I take a deep breath, steeling my resolve.

This is the right thing to do. She can barely even look at me anymore.

I made her promise not to leave, and now I have to let her go.

"Can you sit with me?"

* * *

**December 6, 2009**

_**Edward**_

Isabella stops walking, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Look," she says excitedly, turning to face the yard we've reached.

"The Petersons are really into holiday decorations. They do a great job every year," she explains, gesturing to the snow-sprinkled grass with one hand.

Her other warm, gloved hand is tucked safely in mine. I still can't believe that I'm holding it.

She glances at me, smiling shyly when she realizes that I'm not looking at the lights at all.

"_Look_," she repeats more insistently. Her smile evens out her stern tone.

I obey, looking at the whimsical mixture of white and gold. I look at the large snowflakes and icicles hanging from the roof. Then I bring my attention right back to Isabella.

Her eyes are still fixated on the display, taking in all the twinkling and glowing lights.

"Aren't they beautiful?" she asks, awe filling up her tone.

"Yes," I agree whole-heartedly, not sparing them a second glance. Watching Isabella's excited expression is much more enjoyable.

* * *

**December 18, 2009**

_**Edward**_

_"You_ have a girlfriend?" Emmett asks doubtfully. I try not to be offended by his dubious expression, but it's difficult.

"We haven't made any declarations about it, but yeah, I'd say so," I reply, suddenly unsure about the correct term.

I shuffle my sock-covered feet against the floor, using the friction as an outlet for my anxiety.

"Why is that so shocking?" _I_ know why, but I don't recall ever telling him.

Emmett moves uncomfortably on the couch, his large frame seeming to exceed its recommended size limit.

"I just thought...never mind. So she's here in Forks?"

I give him a speculative glance before deciding to just let the topic die. I don't want to fight; visiting Emmett on the way to Isabella's was supposed to be a positive thing.

"Yeah, you probably know her. Her name is Isabella. She's a waitress at the diner."

"I know a _Bella_ who works in the diner." He has that crease in his forehead that says he's reading too much into something.

I shrug. "That's probably her, but she introduced herself as Isabella."

"She's a nice girl."

It's more of a warning than a question, but I answer anyway. "Very."

He keeps his eyes on me, locking us into an awkward staring contest. It seems to last forever, but he's the first to break it.

He focuses on the toddler toy sitting next to him, his voice careful and determined.

"And you're doing okay? Not...drinking or anything?"

I have to hold back my anger at his accusation, not to mention a sigh. I hate how he asks that, like I still need him to help me out of bars and VIP rooms.

"You know I stopped that a long time ago, Emmett," I admonish, wondering if he's more concerned for Isabella. "I'm fine. I quit when I realized my professional life was at risk, remember?"

"Your professional life," he echoes, no questioning lilt to his voice.

"Yes," I answer dryly. _What's wrong with him? _I visit him twice in one month, so he suddenly decides to get invasive?

I run a hand through my hair, torturing the locks as part of some ill-fated stress control.

I know why he's asking. I know he's seen me at my worst, but he really doesn't need to worry now.

_It's not like I was an alcoholic_.

I just drank whenever I got lonely...which was quite a lot.

* * *

**April 30, 2010**

_**Edward**_

_Tea lights._ There are tea lights everywhere.

Delicate, dangerous specks of fire creating winding walkways.

I don't have to choose which path to go on.

Her gown is smooth and shiny in the limited light, an angelic white against the darkness. It almost looks like she's floating.

Following her is as natural as breathing.

* * *

**August 20, 2008**

_**Edward**_

Emmett slides my shot glass away from me, giving it to the customer sitting next to him.

I glare at him, but he takes no notice. Instead, he continues his guilt trip.

"I think Tori really likes you. You shouldn't use her like this, Edward."

I shake my head slightly, stopping when I realize that the motion makes my head spin.

Emmett is a whipped married man. _What does he know?_

"I don't think she's interested in me like that. And even if she is...Why not? People use me all the time. I never know if someone only likes me for my money. I should just keep my distance and save myself the disappointment."

I unsuccessfully try to catch the bartender's eye. He's new, so I don't know his name yet. And I can't shout, "Hey, you!" because I need to be polite. He and I are going to be good friends.

Finally giving up on replacing my stolen drink, I bring my focus back to a silent Emmett.

"Besides," I reason, picking up where I left off. "She's hot. I'm hot. It's natural. Even Darwin would say so."

Emmett looks at me with his trademark, "incredulously pissed" expression. I should know which look that is. I've been giving him opportunities to perfect it for years.

"Are you drunker than I thought, or are you just that much of an asshole?"

* * *

**February 21, 2010**

_**Edward**_

"Why do you believe in God?" I murmur. It's not a criticism at all; I'm just curious. I want to know everything about her.

She turns to face me more fully, sliding a hand under her pillow.

"It's how I was raised, even if it was just loosely. And I like to think that there's something for us after death... That one day we'll eat from fruit trees of plenty, without any shame or unhappiness. And that's how we'll stay. Forever."

I push a stray lock of hair away from Isabella's eyes, wistfully taking in her content expression. It sounds so perfect that I want it to be true, if only for her sake.

I listen to the muffled sounds of the storm as I work up the nerve to ask my next question. We don't alter our relaxed positions at all, content to just lie here.

"And what does forever mean to you, in this lifetime?"

I try to make my voice casual, but Isabella smiles softly. She knows what I'm up to.

After thinking about her answer, Isabella props herself up on one elbow, taking on the challenge.

"It means that you can't imagine anything lasting longer than that person," she says softly, her eyes alight with meaning. "Nothing else matters...because you don't _want_ anything to last past them."

I think over her words, preparing to continue our dance around the concept of eternity. But after a few moments of rain-filled quiet, Isabella's expression turns self-conscious.

"Sorry," she murmurs, vulnerable from her almost-declaration. "That probably sounds silly."

"No," I reassure, pulling her closer. My voice is just above the level of a secret. "I don't think it's silly at all."

* * *

**July 29, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I look down at my fidgeting hands, not needing to study my surroundings too closely. I already know that it's a new locale teeming with businessmen and wooden countertops and relief. I haven't been to this bar in particular, but _I've been here before_. At dozens of places just like it.

The kid behind the counter looks maybe a day over 18.

"Sir?" he says, since I am wearing a suit. He's distracted, handling liquor bottles somewhat recklessly, yet carefully...knowing that his next paycheck depends on it.

This probably isn't the first time he has greeted me, but it's the first time I remember. I've been too lost in my swirling memories to notice.

He gives me a questioning look, having finished with his other tasks.

I know what he's going to ask, even though I don't want him to ask. But it would be strange for him not to because _why else would I be here_?

He gestures to all the bottles, showing off his many riches.

"Would you like a drink?"

* * *

**A/N:**

I know...crazy amount of moments, but that's what Edward is feeling. The good news is that there won't be so many in the future, and the updated timeline is below.

Also, a big thanks to everyone reviewing; I especially love hearing your theories. And thank you to What The Fun for prereading.

...

**Edward and Emmett at bar - August 20, 2008 (Chapter 18)**

Meet at diner - November 22, 2009 (Chapter 2)

**First date - December 6, 2009 (Chapter 3 and 18)**

**Edward visits Emmett in Forks - December 18, 2009 (Chapter 18)**

Edward sleeps at Bella's for the first time - December 18, 2009 (Chapter 13)

Cockblocked by Benny - January 16, 2010 (Chapter 6)

Bella tells Edward that she loves him...when he's asleep - January 30, 2010 (Chapter 8)

Bella cries after burning surprise breakfast - February 14, 2010 (Chapter 10)

**Talk about God / forever - February 21, 2010 (Chapter 18)**

Humorous handjob and "Marry me first" thought - March 7, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Packing up Bella's things in Forks / Bella's family photo - April 10, 2010 (Chapter 7)

Pick out house - April 15, 2010 (Chapter 9)

Prenup discussed after a night out - April 17, 2010 (Chapter 4)

**Marry - April 30, 2010 (Chapter 18)**

Arrive at Nice, France for honeymoon - May 1, 2010 (Chapter 15)

Honeymoon moment in Sospel - May 4, 2010 (Chapter 7)

Honeymoon beach makeout - May 5, 2010 (Chapter 15)

Amusement park (back in Washington) - May 22, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Edward takes a photo of Bella - May 23, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Dandelion wishes - May 23, 2010 (Chapter 12)

Edward's lunch break with Alec and Heidi - May 27, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Bella tells Sue about 365 project - May 28, 2010 (Chapter 8)

Bella's lonely phone call to Jessica - May 28, 2010 (Chapter 12)

Bella stays home instead of going to club - May 29, 2010 (Chapter 14)

Edward misses gallery date - June 11, 2010 (Chapter 10)

Bella pretends to be asleep - June 12, 2010 (Chapter 14)

Edward's birthday party - June 20, 2010 (Chapter 13)

Edward plans carnival date - July 7, 2010 (Chapter 16)

**Breakup - July 12, 2010 (Chapter 17 and 18)**

Meet with lawyers - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 1)

Last time Edward saw Bella - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Edward sees newscast - July 20, 2010 (Chapter 1)

Edward is interviewed by Mike - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 3)

Edward hires Marcus to investigate - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Edward messes with Mike - July 24, 2010 (Chapter 5)

Edward finds Benny in bedroom and breaks down - July 24, 2010 (Chapter 6 and 7)

Sue tells off Edward - July 26, 2010 (Chapter 9)

Edward finds 365 project - July 27, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Edward meets with Rosalie - July 28, 2010 (Chapter 12 and 14)

Edward's meeting with employees - July 29, 2010 (Chapter 16)

**Edward at bar - July 29, 2010 (Chapter 18)**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **

Thanks again to What The Fun!

* * *

**"There's only one person in the world who decides what I'm going to do, and that's me."**

**"You decided what you were going to do, Charles, some time ago."**

- Kane & Emily

* * *

**July 29, 2010**

_**Edward**_

Marcus slides onto the bar stool next to me, looking very casual despite the reason he's here.

I lift my head, uncrossing the arms that acted as my pillow while I waited.

"Twelve days," I announce unceremoniously, skipping the greeting as I meet his hazel gaze.

"It's been twelve days with no leads. She left, and she's not coming back. She was probably just in a hurry. You said it yourself."

Marcus opens his mouth slightly before closing it. Something close to regret crosses his face, but he quickly pushes it back.

"You don't mean that, Edward. You're drunk," he argues wearily.

"I'm not drunk."

"Edward -"

"I mean it. I didn't drink anything."

His pity-rich expression turns dubious.

"He really didn't," the kid bartender intercedes, sounding less than impressed. He probably can't wait for me to stop taking up his seating.

Marcus' gaze flits between the boy and me, finally settling on my unnamed expression.

"That's why I called. I don't want to drink." _I just want to stop feeling._

Marcus just stares as if my defeated words don't make any sense.

Maybe they don't, but I can't leave on my own.

I go back to studying wood grains as Marcus sighs, the sound voicing his own sudden desire for liquor.

He's probably wondering the same things I am, like, _Why did I ask him to pick me up when I'm perfectly sober?_

Or, _Why was he the only one I felt I could call?_

All good questions, but they will have to wait for my next therapist.

Since Marcus is still speechless, I take the opportunity to explain my recent epiphany.

"If someone wanted money, they would have told us by now. She probably grabbed all the loose cash she could find, and just...drove. I would have done the same thing."

My detective friend purposefully ignores my reasoning, placing his hand on my arm.

"Come on, I'll take you home."

"I don't want to go home. She's everywhere."

"I'll take you to my house, then." He's back to regarding me in a way usually reserved for skittish animals.

I nod, almost wishing that I had taken that drink after all. If I could just forget, for only a few hours...

Marcus interrupts my temptation by pulling on my arm, tugging until I stand. His movement is more of an annoyance than a physical help, but to anyone except the bartender, it would just seem as if I had too many drinks.

In actuality, I could argue that I haven't had enough.

But I shouldn't let myself regress, if only for her...wherever she is. I owe her that much.

_Wherever she is._

Marcus steers us away from the pretty bottles, and despite my lingering doubts, I'm thankful for his presence.

I keep my eyes downcast as I follow him, distractedly hoping that I don't know anyone here. But most of my mind is busy replaying rapid, flickering moments starring Isabella.

We're halfway between the counter and the door when my heart constricts, having saved the worst realization for last.

"I should have left her alone."

The words are lifeless yet remorseful and very, very true.

Marcus offers no response to my self-inflicted guilt, only pushing me toward the exit so I walk faster.

* * *

**May 7, 2010**

_**Bella**_

Edward tugs on my too-tight jeans, struggling since they are still sticking to my legs. His hair is backlit by nearby lights, recreating the wonderful image from the beach.

I reach my hands out, grabbing two fistfuls of copper locks as he double-checks the zipper.

"Penny hair," I giggle.

It is truly the most hilarious thing I've ever said.

Edward smiles down at me, reinforcing that what I just said was very funny. He looks like an angel...an angel sent to save me from my drunkenness.

He easily removes my hold on his hair, showing a lot more coordination than I have at the moment. My mood twists and turns with the fleeting thought, suddenly blanketing me with devastation.

"Why didn't you drink with me? Don't you like me?" I challenge, damn close to hiccup-sobs.

Edward continues his efforts, inadvertently bringing me closer to the edge of the bed. I blink rapidly, momentarily lost in the feeling of wet denim being pulled down my legs.

"I think you should know by now that I more than _like_ you, Mrs. Cullen. And I did have a drink, though you really drank enough for the both of us."

"Well, why didn't you come in the pool with me?" I've stumped him this time, I'm sure.

"Because that wasn't a swimming pool. That was a fountain."

"_Semanantics_," I grumble. By the smile on his face, I don't think I got it right.

"It was kind of shallow, don't you think?"

"I did wonder about that."

More tugs. Coarse fabric. _Air._

I open the eyes I don't remember closing, focusing on where Edward should be. He throws my jeans to the floor with a victorious _plop_, finally proving successful in his fight against the pants.

"There," he sighs, glaring at the heap of fabric. It looks like he wants to stomp on it.

I stare unabashedly as he quickly removes his own clothes, only keeping his underwear. But my hopes of getting lucky are dashed when he settles in _next_ to me instead of on top of me.

I immediately roll onto my side to face him, proudly offering my hushed confession.

"You know, I've never been drunk before."

"You don't say."

"Mmhmm."

It's too quiet as Edward's gentle fingers brush my forehead, pushing hair away from my face. Even in my inebriated state, I can feel his amusement turn into something else.

My eyes squint, trying to judge his expression.

I'm pretty sure that's a frown.

"I should take better care of you," he murmurs somberly.

Yes, definitely a frown.

A buzz-killing, _responsible_-like...

"It's not your fault," I insist. "It's the French and all their...wine."

He doesn't look convinced.

"Really. They're like Pringles. You can't have just one."

Edward lets out a harsh breath, seeming to relax with the sound.

"Let's just take it easy next time, okay?" he says softly.

I close my eyes, snuggling into my pillow.

"Okay, Frowny Face. 'Night."

"Goodnight."

I hear a slight rustling as Edward pulls the covers over us both, and I can't help but smile when I feel his lips against my hair.

"It was a good day though, wasn't it?" I ask as I fend off a yawn.

"One of the best," he assures. His vague answer sparks my curiosity.

"Which one _was_ the best?"

"Maybe I'll tell you when you're sober."

"Okay," I chime cheerfully. That seems reasonable.

He says nothing else, so I let my mind wander as I succumb to exhaustion. My hand idly plays with the pillowcase while I take to imagining seashores and smiles, thoroughly hoping for lucid dreams tonight.

When Edward's voice breaks the silence, I think I may already be asleep.

"And Isabella?"

I hum distractedly, barely registering his next words.

"I really, really like you."

* * *

**May 2, 2010**

_**Edward**_

Isabella stands before me shyly, her body still and pure and sunkissed. I watch her play with the hem of her summer dress, twisting the fabric into a delicate bundle.

Anticipation speeds up our too-fast breaths, accentuating the only sounds in the room. I sit down on the edge of the bed, silently beckoning her closer.

I want nothing more than to let the cotton and ruffles fall to the floor. So I can love her.

She approaches slowly, stopping right in front of my knees. And as much as I enjoy following Isabella, I have to admit that I love when she follows me, too.

I take her hands, bringing her into the small space I've made between my legs. My eyes observe her floral ruffles contemplatively, with perhaps just a hint of contempt. It's a beautiful dress - and a present from her friend - but right now I just need to get her out of it.

Since I shamelessly watched her put it on this morning, I know the zipper is hidden on the side of the dress, under her arm. Isabella lets me poke around until I'm successful, probably sensing that I want to do this myself.

I gradually expose more skin as I slide the dress down her body, placing a light kiss above her belly button once I am able to. I place another one near her ribs, another above her hip...

As I continue to brush my lips against her bare stomach, I soon notice when she starts tensing her abdomen. The movement borders on severe, making me worry that _positive_ anticipation might not be the cause.

Unable to see any clues on her face aside from expected nervousness, I decide to move farther up her body. Tonight will be filled with multiple questions and assurances, but right now - when there are so many options with no pain involved - I want to explore her likes and dislikes by trying them out.

I bring my hands to her waist, gently running one finger along the bottom of her bra. Its white fabric is thin and slight, suggesting that its only purpose involves being unwrapped. The innocent color would have made me feel guilty on any other night, but now it just matches the memory of her wedding dress perfectly.

I take a closer look, having only seen it at a distance earlier.

The first layer has dozens of little holes, revealing solid fabric underneath. She jumps slightly when I run my thumb over the material.

"Are you okay?"

I make my voice an almost-whisper, perhaps afraid that if I speak any louder, I might be sent to another time and place.

She nods but self-consciously tugs on the bottom my shirt, keeping it in her grasp.

I help her take it off, scolding myself for treating her like an appetizer when I was fully dressed.

I remove my pants before settling back down on the edge of the bed, this time bringing Isabella with me. Her legs straddle me as my arms reach around her waist, settling her on my lap.

"Better?"

She hums, cutting off the sound when she leans in to kiss me. It's sweet and not-so-short, acting as a comfort to us both.

She pulls away right before I reach around her body, easily handling the clasp that is flush against her back. I take my time as I slide the straps down her arms.

Not rushing, just giving me time to commit this to memory.

I toss the bra onto the floor with a little more power than needed, happy that there is more bare skin for me to touch and tease and adore.

She takes in a quick breath when my fingertips trail between her breasts, lazily making their way to her only remaining piece of clothing. Her light blue panties don't really match, but that's just so..._Isabella_. I'd take this ensemble over black lace any day.

My hands toy with the top of her underwear, uncovering the small smudge of brown near her hip bone.

Soon, when the air is not so heavy with expectations, I will spend a day finding every single freckle or mark on her body.

Isabella distracts me from my promise when she shifts slightly on my lap, reminding me that I have yet to proceed. But my fingers have turned hesitant, seeming content to just hold the fabric.

This feels the same as other times I've undressed her, but different. Because now this is with a clear purpose, an ending in sight.

I wonder if she can feel my hands trembling against her hips.

Isabella touches my face gently, looking at me with a kind expression.

"Are _you_ okay?" she asks, eyes sparkling.

I let out a short laugh, feeling better when she smiles. _That's a yes._

"I'm great."

"Me, too," she says, still grinning. The amount of relief I get from these two little words is outrageous.

I cup her face with my palm, relaxing more when I see that her eyes are full of trust. Isabella immediately covers my hand with her own, and I hope she knows I'm only nervous because I care.

While I'll always want Isabella desperately, the selfish need to take has been dominated by the current need to make this perfect for her.

The feeling is so foreign, but then again, this isn't just any girl.

I'm not sure of the exact moment it happened. But with ease, she has completely turned my world upside down, wiggled her way into all thoughts of the future, made me feel all these things I was sure I couldn't...

_Love..._

My lips turn up on their own, displaying just a small fraction of my happiness.

I've read about this.


	20. Chapter 20

_._

* * *

**"Goodbye, Charlie."**

- Susan

* * *

**May 12, 2010**

_**Bella**_

I glance at the column of words in front of me, trying to pick the easiest activity. Unfortunately, we've already used several of them.

"Je veux..._aller au zoo_."

_There_, I conclude, feeling a small burst of pride. I'm pretty sure that's how he said it.

Edward smiles and nods.

"Bonne idée."

I scan the paper, having trouble finding his phrase. The handwritten list of possible responses looks much longer than it did a minute ago.

I'm sure my confusion is showing on my face; I don't remember that pronunciation at all.

"Wait. Did you just say _Bunny_ Day?"

He laughs. Loudly. Much too loudly to be polite. I smack him.

"It's not funny," I scold, holding back my own laughter. "This is hard."

"I'm sorry. You're right; it is hard." Edward points out the correct line for me.

"But that doesn't look like that at all," I argue needlessly, as if someone should redesign the entire language because I say so.

"I know. It's a tricky word. The _bon_ turns to _bonne_ because _idée_ - idea - is feminine."

I blink in reply, seriously rethinking my impromptu French lesson.

"How about a break?" Edward offers after a short moment, seeing my obvious frustration. "We could go somewhere."

I stand up without hesitation, having sat still for way too long. Edward does the same, placing a soothing hand on my waist.

"Where do you want to go?" I'm open to almost anything, as long as English is involved.

"We could get gelato?" he suggests, further invading my personal space. He grips my hip with his other hand, letting his thumb rub small circles beneath my shirt.

I hum noncommittally, mostly as a thankful response to his gentle motions.

Edward halts the involuntary sound when he tugs on my belt loop, bringing us closer together. His exhaled breaths are warm against my cheek, making my heart skip.

My own breathing pauses as his lips reach my neck, placing soft kisses against the skin. I can feel him all over my body, just with that little sensation.

I briefly wonder how this started so suddenly, and then I realize that I don't care one bit.

If this is coercion, it really is rather pleasant.

"We just ate gelato yesterday," I note shakily, not quite objecting. I'm just trying to come up with any combination of sensible words.

I want to wrap my arms around his neck - and my legs around his waist - but my limbs don't seem to be working. All I can do is try to inhale.

Edward places a final kiss on my pulse point before pulling away from my frozen body. Giving me more room when he backs up, much to my relief and dismay.

His expression turns mischievous as he walks to the doorway without turning away.

"I know." He shrugs, not apologizing for our earlier indulgence. The sinful grin on his face makes me flush all over.

"I just like watching you lick the spoon."

* * *

**April 4, 2010**

_**Bella**_

"You know this is your car now, right? You can drive it anytime you want."

I nod, still content to be on the passenger's side.

"I know. I just don't want to drive it for the first time when it's pouring. It's so pretty. And I'm not the best driver, to be honest."

Edward whips his head in my direction, his speed almost humorous.

"I wish you'd told me that before. I would have given you a tank."

"Ha ha," I remark, even though he's probably half serious.

I lick my ice cream cone carefully, ever mindful of the new interior. Watching as Edward sneaks his own spoonful at the stop sign.

It's a comfortable silence, and I hate to break it. But this seems as good a time as any to bring up something that has been nagging me since yesterday.

"Do you think Carlisle and Esme liked me?" My question is determined yet guilty, showing how it had to sneak its way out of my mouth.

Edward glances at me with raised eyebrows, stealing a quick peek before turning back to the road.

"Are you kidding? They love you. They might even love you more than they love me."

I look down, feeling shy yet pleased by the first part of his answer. I hope he knows I'm not simply fishing for compliments.

"Don't be silly. They barely know me."

"Even so. They're thrilled."

I watch the windshield wipers work as I wait for one of us to say something, still feeling somewhat anxious. Trying to act more confident than I am, but not succeeding.

Luckily, Edward chases away the quiet.

"Plus, you already know that Emmett and Rosalie like you." He throws in a playful smile. "And Rosalie doesn't like anyone."

I laugh lightly, not knowing her well enough to verify that.

"I think she's nice."

"Maybe when she wants to be," he allows.

I shrug, not wanting to talk bad about Rosalie after she has been so kind.

"I think..." Edward trails softly before stopping, seeming to second-guess his comment. He pulls into my driveway, stilling the car as blankets of water slide down the sides.

We silently watch as the rain surrounds us, its strength completely distorting our view of the house.

I'm thinking about how thankful I am for raincoats when Edward finally turns toward me, smiling as I wipe some misplaced dairy off my nose.

His eyes are mostly happy, but they have a sad glimmer to them.

They're hinting at something important, something perhaps too important for a moment when I have a sticky nose. He brushes his thumb against the tip of it, likely erasing a smudge I missed.

_Then again, words are words._ No matter when or where they are said.

Edward seems to agree, sharing his delayed thought as he tucks my hair farther away from the cone.

"_I know_ my mom would have loved you, too."

* * *

**July 17, 2010**

_**Bella**_

I start up the Audi with some difficulty, having to rub my eyes first.

Telling myself that I have good reason to run. I'm simply retreating from a lost battle, trying to escape with my life intact.

But I'm already falling apart, and I'm not even out of the driveway.

I take a quick look around, working to calm down before I have to drive.

The car looks the same as always.

_Purse tossed out of the way. Sunglasses on the dash. A million hair ties hiding between the seats._

It's been this way ever since Edward bought it for me.

The only difference is that now, he's not going with me.

* * *

**A/N: **

_Je veux_ _aller au zoo_ = I want to go to the zoo.

_Bonne idée_ = Good idea.

Thank you to What the Fun for prereading and chatting about the chapters. And thanks to everyone who reviewed.

xoxo


	21. Chapter 21

_._

* * *

**"Don't worry about me, Gettys. Don't worry about me. I'm Charles Foster Kane!"**

- Kane

* * *

**April 9, 2010**

_**Bella**_

"I'm sure they'll just be a minute," I placate, glancing at the bookstore Angela and Jessica disappeared into.

"It's okay. I don't mind."

I nod, still somewhat anxious. I can't really imagine Rosalie waiting for anyone.

She taps her red nails on the steering wheel, but I don't think it's out of impatience. It almost seems like she's nervous as well.

"So you're sure?" she says, clear-blue eyes still looking through the windshield.

"About what?" I ask casually, not having any clue of what she's talking about.

Rosalie turns her upper body, mirroring my own position on the passenger's side.

"Edward."

As far as one-word sentences go, this one is very determined.

I can feel my forehead crease unattractively.

"I'm just a little worried," she continues quietly.

More unattractive face-scrunching.

This is coming out of nowhere.

"What do you mean? Didn't you help Edward pick out the ring and everything?" I ask, rattled by her mixed signals.

"Yes. And I'm glad I did because you deserve this to be perfect. It's just...you're so young. Why the rush?"

She stares and waits, her face showing genuine curiosity

My cheeks heat up, spreading pink all over. I'm suddenly worried that she can read my mind.

"I mean...you're not..." Rosalie trails, unconvinced. She looks at my midsection, appearing positively horrified by the thought.

"No! No," I assure. "I'm _so_ not." _Unless immaculate conception is making a comeback._

"Okay, good. Things are hard enough without a baby added to the mix right away. Or three." She grins good-naturedly. "I would know."

I nod, frantically thinking ahead. I need to change the subject before someone says the V-word.

I look out my window again, at the parking lot.

"Do you think it's going to storm?" I ask, trying to keep from cringing a moment later.

_Lamest topic change ever._

I know Rosalie sees right through it.

When I'm brave enough to face her again, she's wearing a slightly chagrined expression. It doesn't look quite right on her.

"I'm sorry; I probably shouldn't have mentioned it. You're going to marry him no matter what, right?" Her voice is defeated yet unsurprised.

I nod, wary of her reaction, but she doesn't say anything. That's somehow worse.

"I really do love him," I murmur, almost apologetically.

Out of all truths, this is most important. Edward and I may be new to this, but I've never been more sure of anything.

Rosalie only studies my face in response, and I hope she recognizes what's there.

As the silence grows longer, I worry that she's angry because I'm ignoring her advice. But she smiles after only a few more seconds.

The secret, girly smile that's contagious.

I can't tell if it's genuine or just supportive, but either way, I'm excited by her next words.

"Okay. Let's get you a dress."

* * *

**July 29, 2010**

_**Edward**_

"I thought you said we were going to your house," I challenge, my voice a little too dead to suggest betrayal.

Marcus sighs, looking even older than before. His fingertips silently tap against the steering wheel, using it as an outlet for his pent-up energy.

"I realized that you would need some clothes since we're not exactly the same size. You don't have to go inside. I'm sure I can figure it out, unless you need some papers or files for work," he offers.

He glances at the huge house dubiously, likely second-guessing what he just said. His tone is gentler as he continues.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want, but I'll be doing a lot of working and driving around. So you might want to visit your brother for a while in Forks, just to be around family. Don't your parents live around there as well?"

"Port Angeles," I mumble, not wanting to involve them.

"Right. Well, you should take some time off. That's why you have employees, right?"

"I can't just run off to Forks, Marcus. This is all I have left."

"I'm worried about you," he admits.

I don't reply as I get out the car.

My body vaguely notices that the weather has taken a turn for the worse. Numerous rain drops fall from the sky like heavy bombs, splattering on my head. I don't care. The violent comparison suits my mood perfectly.

I'm a grown man. I don't need a babysitter.

I open and shut the front door, not checking to see if Marcus has started to follow. My wet shoes form a trail of water to my office, revealing my location should he need it. I've taken this route so many times - too many times - that I don't even have to think about where my feet take me.

With practiced movements, I unlock my desk drawer, pulling out the contracts I took home to read. The bright yellow folder stands out like a beacon, showing up all the other colors in the room.

As I set it down on the oversized desk, it makes the wood look downright boring.

I'm still not very cognizant of my actions as I pick up the only non-paper object hidden inside the drawer.

At least, that's the excuse I tell myself.

My fingers glide over the aged case with morbid fascination, still not revealing the ring inside. The ring that Isabella should have had. The one I _would _have given her, if I wasn't still so upset by the sight of it.

Another regret.

"Edward?" Marcus calls, sounding close-by. "Do you need help packing?"

The interruption wakes me up, breaking me out of my dismal thoughts. I pick up the folder again, ready to head upstairs. And I don't know why I do it, but I slip the cased ring into my pocket anyway.

At this point, I'm willing to take Marcus up on his offer, simply to get us out of the house sooner.

* * *

**March 26, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I brush my fingers against my pant pocket, checking on my precious cargo.

I can almost feel the ring burning a little hole in the fabric, as if it knows it belongs on her finger instead.

_It's time to go get Isabella._

Excitement blends with anxiety until they are one and the same.

I look around, double-checking that everything looks as it should.

Again, I wonder if I should have gotten more expensive, exotic flowers.

But Rosalie said daisies were better. Something about Gilmore Girls. Whatever the fuck that is.

It's a little late to switch varieties now, anyway.

I run a hand over the top of my head, pushing back my hair and nervousness.

I'm getting too distracted by my surroundings. It is rather over-the-top.

If a kid wanted to play "_He loves me, he loves me not" _with all these petals, it would take forever.

Isabella loves me.

_Loves, loves, loves. _

And she's the only reason I know about that silly game.

I smile, feeling a little less jittery as I turn to leave.

This is the right thing.

I want her with me - always - and this is the way to make that happen.

* * *

**A/N:**

There are some new links on my profile:

- Playlist: Music that makes me think of the story, ready to play on YouTube

- Banner 3

Thank you for all the reviews for the last chapter; you guys are the best! And a big thanks to What The Fun for prereading. You make this much better.

The updated timeline is below.

...

Edward and Emmett at bar - August 20, 2008 (Chapter 18)

Meet at diner - November 22, 2009 (Chapter 2)

First date - December 6, 2009 (Chapter 3 and 18)

Edward visits Emmett in Forks - December 18, 2009 (Chapter 18)

Edward sleeps at Bella's for the first time - December 18, 2009 (Chapter 13)

Cockblocked by Benny - January 16, 2010 (Chapter 6)

Bella tells Edward that she loves him...when he's asleep - January 30, 2010 (Chapter 8)

Bella cries after burning surprise breakfast - February 14, 2010 (Chapter 10)

Talk about God / forever - February 21, 2010 (Chapter 18)

Humorous handjob and "Marry me first" thought - March 7, 2010 (Chapter 11)

**Proposal jitters - March 26, 2010 (Chapter 21)**

Ice cream run in Forks / Talk about Edward's family - April 4, 2010 (Chapter 20)

**Rose and Bella's conversation before shopping for wedding dress - April 9, 2010 (Chapter 21)**

Packing up Bella's things in Forks / Bella's family photo - April 10, 2010 (Chapter 7)

Pick out house - April 15, 2010 (Chapter 9)

Prenup discussed after a night out - April 17, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Marry - April 30, 2010 (Chapter 18)

Arrive at Nice, France for honeymoon - May 1, 2010 (Chapter 15)

Delayed "wedding night" - May 2, 2010 (Chapter 19)

Honeymoon moment in Sospel - May 4, 2010 (Chapter 7)

Honeymoon beach makeout - May 5, 2010 (Chapter 15)

Bella's drunken moment in Nice - May 7, 2010 (Chapter 19)

French lesson in Nice - May 12, 2010 (Chapter 20)

Amusement park (back in Washington) - May 22, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Edward takes a photo of Bella - May 23, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Dandelion wishes - May 23, 2010 (Chapter 12)

Edward's lunch break with Alec and Heidi - May 27, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Bella tells Sue about 365 project - May 28, 2010 (Chapter 8)

Bella's lonely phone call to Jessica - May 28, 2010 (Chapter 12)

Bella stays home instead of going to club - May 29, 2010 (Chapter 14)

Edward misses gallery date - June 11, 2010 (Chapter 10)

Bella pretends to be asleep - June 12, 2010 (Chapter 14)

Edward's birthday party - June 20, 2010 (Chapter 13)

Edward plans carnival date - July 7, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Breakup - July 12, 2010 (Chapter 17 and 18)

Meet with lawyers - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 1)

Last time Edward saw Bella - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Bella about to leave home - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 20)

Edward sees newscast - July 20, 2010 (Chapter 1)

Edward is interviewed by Mike - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 3)

Edward hires Marcus to investigate - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Edward messes with Mike - July 24, 2010 (Chapter 5)

Edward finds Benny in bedroom and breaks down - July 24, 2010 (Chapter 6 and 7)

Sue tells off Edward - July 26, 2010 (Chapter 9)

Edward finds 365 project - July 27, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Edward meets with Rosalie - July 28, 2010 (Chapter 12 and 14)

Edward's meeting with employees - July 29, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Edward at bar - July 29, 2010 (Chapter 18 and 19)

**Edward gets ready to stay with Marcus - July 29, 2010 (Chapter 21)**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:**

Thanks to What The Fun for your prereading and painful research ;) And thanks to everyone who reviewed last time.

This quote was actually cut from the tent scene, but I loved it when I read the screenplay, so I decided to still use it.

* * *

**"I'm not just your wife - I'm a person all by myself. Or I ought to be. I was once. Sometimes you get me to believing I never was."**

- Susan

* * *

**July 30, 2010**

_**Edward**_

"That's a pretty ring."

Startled by the sound, I snap the case closed with a resounding click. It barely misses my finger.

I look over my shoulder, toward Marcus' tentative voice.

"It was my mother's," I reply bluntly.

It's an asshole thing to say, but I want to be an asshole at the moment. I want him to feel bad for starting this conversation at all.

I look back at the satin case, not needing to refresh my memory. I have the ring memorized.

While he is correct in saying it's beautiful, I can't look past the history marring its glittering diamonds.

After about a minute, I turn on the bed to face Marcus, realizing that he still hasn't responded.

His patient expression makes me feel less antagonistic, but only adds to the growing list of things I feel guilty about.

"Sorry," I murmur for the millionth time. I have to stop using him as a punching bag. My character flaws aren't his problem.

That's what this current preoccupation is...a flaw. After all, what kind of kid gets _angry_ at his parent for dying? What kind of adult carries that resentment around with him in his pocket?

Even though he doesn't know the extent of all that, I'm still lucky he puts up with my ever-shortening temper. He's surely cutting me some slack because of the circumstances, but everyone gets fed up eventually.

_Maybe he's only bothering because I pay him._

The thought is too depressing to entertain, so I try to erase it from my mind.

"Did you want to talk about something?" I ask politely, hoping to change the subject.

Marcus doesn't answer right away, choosing instead to shuffle his feet.

Judging by his face, the answer is "yes." But I don't know why he is clearly hesitant to let the words out. I hope he isn't already regretting his decision to let me stay here.

"Yeah...actually, I wanted to talk to you about Isabella." _The woman who left you. Who probably ran as fast as she could._

If I could read minds, I'm sure his thoughts would be something like that.

This definitely explains the hesitance.

"What about?" I wonder, suddenly cautious. _Does he want the whole story?_

We'd definitely need alcohol for that conversation. Too bad his can't be saved because he poured it down the drain.

Marcus sits down at the small desk against the wall, turning his body toward mine. I'm not sure what to make of his expression.

"I was thinking we could dig a little deeper before we give up hope. I have already checked out your main competitors, your ex-buddies from college, a few former employees, the activists you pissed off..."

He gives me a speculative glance, possibly wondering how someone who seems likable has left so many jilted people behind him. But isn't that how it usually works? Too often, nice guys finish last. _And too often, nice guys remember that._

My friend - or perhaps my employee - shifts slightly, trying to get comfortable on the uncomfortable chair. His stare becomes deeper, more probing as he continues.

"I know you already think she left on her own, but can you think of any other potential enemies?"

* * *

**July 17, 2010**

_**Bella**_

This isn't safe. I can barely see the road.

The divider line is blurred by not-quite-cleansing tears, reducing it to only an approximation.

My dad's advice rings in my ears.

He knew I was a shitty driver; he always worried about me. I nearly gave him a heart attack while he was giving me lessons.

I know better than this.

Compared to other kids in school, my list of driving rules was quite extensive.

_"Never drive while upset,"_ was right up there with, _"Don't even think about stopping for hippie hitchhikers."_

I let out an odd sob-laugh at the memory, worsening my visibility even further.

I guess it's time to admit defeat; I can't even seem to run away properly.

Winning the fight against my emotions is obviously impossible. And even though my dad's no longer around to enforce his rules, it still feels wrong to go against them.

Not seeing any other cars, I pull onto the side of the road, slowing down until I can park.

This probably isn't the best place to stop, but driving without a destination wasn't the best idea, either.

I'm halfway out of the car when I turn back, grabbing my purse off the seat. I briefly remember that I left my phone charging back at the house, but I'm unable to give it a second thought. I need to get out of this small space before I suffocate.

I survey the area as I stand, noticing that I've stopped in a rather pretty area. Undisturbed trees, no outrageously priced condos in sight...

_At least my misery will be more scenic._

Setting my sights on the top of a small hill_, _I tip-toe and totter over a patch of uneven ground, intoxicated by my wayward emotions. After I get past that rough area, the rest of the makeshift path isn't very difficult.

I take a small amount of comfort from my surroundings when I reach the top, selecting a place to sit. Instead of finding forests disconcerting, I've always been soothed by the ability to feel lost amidst the foliage. _To blend in..._

I hug my legs as I sit on the unkempt grass, supporting my back with one of the tree trunks.

Having completed the minuscule task of hill-climbing, it's far too easy for my mind to return to the real dilemma at hand. But now that I don't need to see clearly, I no longer bother to dab or wipe or hold back. It's less stressful to accept that the wetness on my cheeks is a permanent fixture, a never-ending stream.

For not the first time, I wonder if this amount of grief is normal. People lose their husbands every day, and they continue on somehow.

But I don't feel like I've lost my husband. I feel like I've lost _everything_.

I lost myself in him. And while that seemed perfectly natural at the time, now it feels like Edward took every part of me with him.

My entire world has lost its focus, but was it right to let my dependence get that far in the first place?

I rest my temple against my knee, hoping to feel less exhausted. My cheek rubs against wet denim as I try to breathe regularly. As I try to pinpoint exactly where we went wrong.

Everything was so much simpler before, when our only declarations were that we couldn't get enough of each other.

Maybe it was too soon to make our forever official, but neither of us wanted to wait.

It wasn't just about the sex. It was about starting our new lives together.

No more four-hour trips; no more goodbyes.

I was so sure, so blind to other options.

We couldn't continue to only see each other on weekends, but was marriage the right choice?

I absentmindedly wipe my eyes with my arm, only succeeding in smearing the tears around.

Beneath all the curiosity and regrets, I know it doesn't matter; it's too late to change anything. I have to focus on what I'll do now. Where I can go.

_My dad's. _

The answer should have been obvious, but it only occurs to me now.

His house is still mine, and it's paid off. That's what a lifetime of public service gets you, after all...a paid mortgage.

I sigh as I lie down on my back, staring up at the darkening sky. Looking for answers in the fading clouds.

All I know is that I can't stay in our house any longer, watching us die.

The thought of returning to Forks is so foreign, but I won't be totally alone.

Jess will come, and we'll blast The Fray and nearly drown ourselves in cheap wine coolers.

I almost smile.

_But first, I should leave a note. _

_Get my phone. Pack some clothes, some food._

I'll have to give back the convertible later.

Even though trees are in the way, I throw a lamenting glance in the direction of my baby, mourning it already.

_I fucking love that car_.

But I love my old truck just as much, and it's sitting in Forks, unused.

I stand, my mind made up.

My truck was given to me by someone who loved me all the way to the end of his life. My Audi will only be a reminder that Edward won't do the same.

I start a brisk walk as I retrace my steps, knowing I need to hurry if I don't want to run into him at the house. I watch my feet as I move, not quite trusting them to take me to my destination safely.

My fingers clutch my purse strap tightly as I approach the road, needing something to hold onto.

It seems like it might rain soon, so I speed up even more.

My walk becomes a weird skip-hop as I avoid rocks and sticks on the slight decline. When I get to the bottom, I'm practically jogging.

I'm in such a rush that I almost run right into a T-shirt clad chest.

My heart lurches as my legs halt my steps.

The shock of being blocked fades when I realize that there is a person in front of me. The first one I've seen since I stopped.

I quickly swat at my face, wishing that I had brought my sunglasses with me. I must look so unstable.

Fortunately, the events of the day have diluted my ability to feel too embarrassed. I raise my downcast eyes warily, facing my near-collision.

My vision has cleared enough to notice that the stranger is looking at me with some kind of recognition.

Emotionally drained and strangely apathetic, I remain frozen as I'm greeted with quiet enthusiasm.

"Hello, little lady."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:**

Thanks again to What The Fun and everyone who reviewed!

* * *

**"****I suppose he had some private sort of greatness, but he kept it to himself.****"**

- Jedediah

* * *

**May 8, 2010**

_**Bella**_

I think I've been asleep forever.

At least that's what it feels like when I _stop_ sleeping - like I shouldn't be waking up because my body isn't ready.

But it's too late, and curiosity has me opening my eyes, bravely greeting the day.

Until I slam my eyelids shut, that is.

"How's your head?" asks the kind, soft voice next to me.

"It hurts," I whisper pathetically, as if trying to keep the cause a secret. Or maybe it's because my head seems to be amplifying every word that enters my ears.

"Here." He props me up a little with the pillows, placing a few pills in one hand. A glass of something in the other.

"Thanks," I reply, swallowing both without looking.

Edward takes the empty cup from my hand, setting it down with a _clink_. I scoot back down so my head is once again supported by soft feathers, appreciating the silence.

The lack of interruptions offers an opportunity to sort through the partial memories swirling inside my head, but I still find most contexts to be just out of reach.

Taunting me with their flighty existence, the broken-up images make a sport out of placing them in the right order. I gasp when they finally start to form a fairly complete picture, causing my eyes to pop open in shock.

Unfortunately, the sunlight sneaking past the thin curtains is still way too bright.

Not wanting to be completely blind, I pull the comforter over my head, proceeding to hide under it.

"Get in here, please," I mumble against the fabric.

Edward chuckles but obeys, sliding under the blanket. Leaving an uncovered spot near the top of our heads.

He rests his head on his arm as we lie on our sides, staring at each other as light filters through the white.

"Did I really jump in a fountain last night?" I ask, looking into Edward's eyes with near-desperation.

I don't know how, but he manages to keep a straight expression.

"Mmhmm. A very pretty one, too."

I wince, even more disturbed now that my suspicions have been confirmed.

"Why didn't you stop me?" I ask, exasperated at the both of us.

"You ran ahead, splashing me when I tried to get you out," he defends. "But hey, at least you had your clothes on."

A grin tugs at his lips.

_Okay, now he's just having too much fun with this._

"Ugh. That's so embarrassing," I complain, rubbing my forehead. "I was hoping it was a dream."

Edward touches my flaming cheek gently before placing his entire hand there, cradling it.

"What _did_ you dream about? You were talking a lot."

"You," I answer honestly, without shame. There is no point in hiding it.

His smile grows wider.

"What about you?" I ask, suddenly curious.

It would surely be less painful if I stop talking, but whenever I look at Edward, I feel like I haven't memorized enough of him yet.

His happy expression fades slightly as he shrugs, seeming unable to answer.

"I don't know. I don't usually remember my dreams, unless I wake up from a nightmare or something."

"That's too bad," I sympathize.

"I suppose. I've never really missed them before." He pauses, moving his fingers higher up, above my eyebrow. "Though now, I really wish I could remember my dreams about you. I know I have them. I just can't..." He trails off, not needing to finish.

"I'm not in the nightmares, I hope?"

He smiles again, shaking his head. "No, never nightmares."

* * *

**July 18, 2010**

_**Bella**_

I blink rapidly as I try to separate past from present, imagination from reality.

The total lack of light tells me I'm no longer in the sandcastle room.

Edward doesn't seem to be next to me, either. But even through the fog, my brain recognizes that - sadly - this is not much of a surprise.

I clearly have something worse than a hangover. My head hurts so much more than it did before. I want to soothe it with my hand, but I can't.

_Nothing_ seems right, but I'm unable to feel as concerned as I should be.

I burrow deeper into the softness I'm lying on, simply wanting to return to my dream.

Drifting easily to a place where everything is not so confusing...to a place where Edward is still mine.

* * *

**July 18, 2010**

_**Edward**_

The house is quiet when I shut the front door behind me, trying not to slam it.

I quickly take my shoes off, as if that will somehow prevent Isabella from kicking me out again. I can't let her this time, not without listening to me first.

Maybe I should have come home in the middle of the night like I was tempted to, but I didn't want her to panic after hearing someone in the guest room. So I stayed at the hotel, even though I must have slept for less than an hour.

I wonder if Isabella is still sleeping, but I'm unsure of how to find out. I can't very well walk into the room and check to see if she's still in bed.

That realization hits me hard.

What used to be protocol would now be considered creepy - crossing an imaginary "line."

_We didn't used to have any lines._

I check the kitchen in case she is getting something to eat, but the only evidence of Isabella is the fully charged phone that's plugged into the wall. I don't let myself feel too disappointed, seeing as it's only 7 a.m. She never gets up this early.

Going along with my decision to stay downstairs, I head straight for the living room. That's where a guest would wait, and unfortunately, that's what I most resemble. I can only hope this changes soon.

Preparing to stay here for a while, I sit down on the couch, trying to get comfortable. I run my hands over my pant legs, nervous and eager to make my declaration.

I have one shot at this. That's it.

One chance to fix my mistake, to take back my preemptive surrender.

I can make her happy. I know I can. We _were_ happy.

We're broken now - and maybe we were before - but even the shards and dysfunctions are more appealing than a life without her.

We just have to set aside our hurt and pride and _fix this_. Us. Not let the other leave until we've told each other everything - all the truths we've been guarding and coddling.

Our words will be desperate and teary and awful, but I'll do it gladly because it's the only chance we have left.

I have to show that I'm all in, willing to do anything. Even willing to get therapy if that might help.

_I fucking hate therapy._ But for her, I'll do it.

I just hope she feels the same way.

I grab my hair, twisting it painfully.

_Do prayers count if you're unsure of their destination?_

At this point, I'm willing to try anything.

My head throbs with too many thoughts as my leg bounces up and down.

Isabella's face flashes through my mind again, increasing my limitless regret. She looked so defeated last night. Not just defeated, but betrayed. And _angry_. She's never yelled at me like that before.

I play with my empty hands, wondering if they _should_ be empty.

Maybe I should have brought flowers. Or maybe I've bought her too many flowers. Too many things that were pretty on the surface, yet held no real substance.

_They die so quickly._

Just as I'm about to start pacing, I remember that I didn't see Isabella's car in the driveway. I assumed she put it in the garage, but is she even home?

Disheartened by the thought, I get up to investigate. I know this strong sense of urgency will continue to unnerve me if I'm unable to talk to her right away.

Unfortunately, the garage is just as empty as the downstairs. And with a superfluous inspection, I discover that the same is true for the second floor.

I walk back downstairs slowly, feeling more tired after my short burst of adrenaline has run out.

I can't think of anywhere she would need to be right now, unless she took a quick trip to the drugstore.

Regardless, I make my way onto the porch, deciding to wait there. I don't want her to retreat to her room without speaking to me.

It can't be too long of a delay. She'll have to come back soon; her phone is here. And when she does, I'll beg and apologize until she hears me.

I go over what I need to say in my mind, practicing so I don't screw this up. If I can convince her to give us another shot, we'll be able to put this all behind us. It will be just like it used to be - natural and wonderful.

I sit down on the steps, staring out at the misty fog. My eyes focus on the driveway, waiting for her car to pull in.

This is going to work. It has to.

I let my head rest against a porch beam, my lack of sleep catching up to me. My hands find my pockets, trying to hide from the morning air.

_Yes,_ I soothe as I take in my weather-blurred surroundings, not allowing my confidence to dwindle.

_When she gets home, we're going to fix everything._


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:**

These are getting a little harder to write, but I'm still with you.

Thank you to What The Fun for prereading and to all readers and reviewers :) I love hearing from you.

* * *

**"The way things turned out, I don't need to tell you. Miss Emily Norton was no Rosebud."**

**"It didn't end very well, did it?"**

**"It ended."**

- Mr. Bernstein & Thompson

* * *

**April 4, 2010**

_**Bella**_

"Who was your first boyfriend?" Edward asks, the question seeming to come out of thin air.

I'm not too surprised. I've learned that no topics are off limits during our Sunday morning bubble.

I run my hands over my pajama bottoms while we sit cross-legged, not quite wanting to get out of bed.

"There was only really one. In high school."

My mind goes back to the summer spent in Jake's garage, watching him work. Stealing kisses and drinking room-temperature soda.

He was warm, with lips, and I was a 16-year-old girl who read magazines with quizzes and tips. It was inevitable, but not very magical.

"Jacob was a year younger than me. Our dating mainly consisted of holding hands for a few months. It really wasn't much."

I have to fight back my blush as I say the words. I'm not even sure that applies to this conversation, but I'm counting it anyway so I feel less embarrassed about my inexperience.

Looking at Edward's face, I see that the twinges of jealousy have mostly evaporated after my dismissal.

"What about you?"

"What?" He looks startled.

"Who was your first girlfriend?" I ask, bracing myself for the answer.

"Oh, you don't want to know about that," he says, trying to sound confident. Despite his attempt, I can still hear the plea in his voice.

_What? _No way.

"You can't just ask me about my first boyfriend without fessing up, yourself," I insist playfully. "Who was the first girl you called yours?"

A few seconds pass, and he doesn't say anything. While my stare is questioning, his is bordering on annoyed. He clearly didn't think of this result when he asked his question.

I fiddle with my hands, wondering if I should just drop it, but now I'm curious. And it's only fair.

"Fine," he concedes, breaking eye contact. "Her name was Susan. I called her Suzy."

I try not to note that little detail.

"Why did you break up?" I ask tentatively, hoping he won't get more upset. I'm relieved when his answer is nonchalant.

"She went to a different school."

"For college?" I guess, not convinced of the timing.

"No," he frowns, studying my face. "For second grade."

I try to hold back my laugh, but it's futile.

"Elementary school aside," I amend. If we were supposed to go _that_ far back, I would have counted Tyler.

He hesitates, taking my hand so he can play with it instead. His fingers glide over mine gently, touching every other nail.

"I didn't call anyone else that until...you."

His voice is an odd mix of embarrassment and pride.

"Ever?" I ask, having a hard time believing that someone didn't snap him up.

"No, not at all."

I've never seen him so self-conscious.

"But you..." I start before thinking better of it. I really don't need to know about that.

While there were obviously _girls_ in the years between Suzy and myself, at least we were the only ones with that special title.

Despite the fact that he's halfway through his twenties, I'm not very disturbed by this information. I'm actually relieved that this puts us on a more level playing field.

"That's okay. At least now I know you're not pining after an ex, right?" I say, trying to lighten the mood.

He seems surprised at my casual acceptance.

"I worried you would run away once you knew. Isn't that some sort of red flag?" he asks, drawing on his knowledge of females.

"I think we're past the _red flag _stage, don't you?"

Maybe we always were. All I know is that he could have as many red flags as China, and I still wouldn't care.

"So you don't think I'm weird?" His forehead is still crinkled with concern.

"I didn't say that," I tease with a grin. "But you're no weirder than I am."

He finally smiles.

"Come here," he requests, moving his hands away from his legs.

I climb onto Edward's lap immediately, wrapping my arms around his body.

He murmurs something soft, but I can't hear it. I'm not sure I'm meant to.

It's nice to be comforting him for a change. I don't even try to keep track of the passing time.

We're both silent aside from our breathing, accepting this as the natural end to our conversation.

While I'm concerned about the reason why he didn't attach himself to anyone, I don't want to cause him any more stress. That question can wait.

I tighten my hold, not allowing myself to think of the women who have had him in ways that I haven't...yet.

It doesn't matter. _He's with me now. _

Edward turns his head so he can give me a quick kiss, making me smile.

_And I'm the only one with his heart._

* * *

**July 31, 2010**

_**Edward**_

I stop for a moment, hesitating before I ring the bell.

Looking around me as I wait, I take in the carefully gardened walkway that's complete with a vine and trellis.

This suburban address isn't what I anticipated at all; I expected to travel to the heart of the city. Somewhere more exciting.

Instead, I'm surrounded by picket fences.

I hear someone approaching from inside, spurring unease in the pit of my stomach.

I shouldn't be here on my own; I realize that. But I didn't want to waste Marcus' time if this ended up being a false alarm.

_It's such a long-shot..._

The door swings open before I have time to rethink it, and I'm greeted by bright hair and crisp clothes. The young woman looks at me while I stare back with curiosity.

Both of us are completely still and silent, waiting for the other to start. There's surprise in her expression, but no visible fear.

I tuck that information away for later.

"Tori?" I ask, hoping to unfreeze her.

She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind. It's an action I know well.

"Sorry. It's just that no one has called me that in over a year."

"Back to Victoria, then?" I ask lightly, passing her once she steps aside.

"Yeah. I thought it was time for a change."

I nod in acceptance, trying to commit that to memory.

While I'll aim to call her Victoria to her face, I can't help but still refer to her as Tori in my mind. This visit is strange enough; I don't think I can handle her name being different on top of that.

We walk side-by-side to her living room, awkwardness existing where words should be.

I look around as we pass through a few rooms.

There are no pictures that I can see; the house is no more personal than a furniture catalogue.

It's also extremely neat and sparse; I'd be surprised if she has a roommate. The number of possessions hardly seems enough for _one_ person. And the driveway only had her familiar car in it...

She gestures to the couch, selecting an armchair for herself. We sit down, facing each other in silence.

"It's nice to see you again," she finally says, smiling slightly.

It takes me a moment to respond, to return the sentiment.

Her politeness - feigned or genuine - is unexpected. But then again, I don't know exactly what I expected to find here.

Simply an angry ex-fling, or something worse?

Could she have Isabella locked in the basement?

Does this house even _have_ a basement?

I pull my hand through my hair, scratching my scalp with my nails.

_I need to get a fucking grip._

"I wanted to talk to you," I claim, trying to keep it together. "I know we didn't part on the best terms."

The first statement is more of an omission, but at least the latter one is true.

She sits quietly for a long time before speaking, her voice confused.

"Is this part of an AA step or something?"

"What?" I gasp, stunned by her assumption. Disjointed questions race through my mind, the least of which being how she even knows about that stuff.

She shrugs, looking a lot more relaxed than I feel.

"You know, when you go apologize to the people you've wronged. If it is, that's cool. I understand."

"No, it's nothing like that," I mumble, still shocked for some reason. I don't know why I'm surprised by her guess. When I broke things off with her, I was definitely heading down that path.

"I've actually calmed down a lot since we last saw each other." I'm proud of that fact, if nothing else.

I never have more than one drink, and I'm not so harsh at work. I'm also no longer the prick snapping up _joie de vivre_, stealing it from others because I don't have it myself.

_I try not to be, anyway._

Tori nods with camaraderie, like we're in this together.

"Me, too."

I don't respond, wondering if that's really true. Judging by her conservative home and appearance, it would seem so. Her modest clothes and neatly pulled-back hair are a far cry from the Tori I used to know.

I study her openly, remembering that she is an open book.

In the past, Tori always wore her thoughts and emotions on her face; lying was a lost cause for her. Faking confusion and casualness would be impossible.

But if that's the case, why am I still here?

If she has zero acting skills, she clearly doesn't have anything to do with Isabella's disappearance. She's just as harmless as the last time I saw her. It's just that this time, there are no tears.

I rub my forehead, feeling the guilt eat me up.

_God, the tears._

Emmett was right all along. She _did_ care, more than either of us realized.

I have to say _something_ about this, both for the sake of my conscience and for the sake of this ruse. I've regretted my actions for a long time; I've never been completely heartless. And she needs to see a more innocent, surface reason for my visit.

"I'm sorry I hurt you."

While I simply came here for information, my apology is genuine.

"A weekly meeting didn't make me say that; I just wanted to tell you."

Tori doesn't say anything, waiting for me to continue. I pause, trying to find the right words.

"I'm kind of...messed up," I confess, having no better way to describe myself. It's not an excuse - merely an attempt at an explanation. God knows she deserves one.

Tori shakes her head, smiling slightly. "Don't you think I knew that?"

She shrugs at my surprised expression, looking down at her lap.

"I knew what I was getting into." She looks up, making eye contact again. Trying to get her sentence to stick.

Her words should make me feel less like a villain, but they don't. I doubt that Isabella completely understood what she was getting into.

She knew part of it, I think.

Though deep down, I know I wasn't completely honest; I didn't want to scare her off. It was selfish, but at the time, I couldn't let myself regret it. I couldn't let us end before we even started.

Tori's voice breaks me out of my wayward thoughts.

"But thank you for the apology. I appreciate it, even though I've already moved on."

Her words are airy and bitter-free. It's rude of me, but I have to wonder when she became so mature.

She's being entirely too understanding, not even seeming suspicious.

I wonder if she thinks I'm making other stops as well, like some kind of tour. "Visiting girls from nights past," or a similar, fucked up title. Just the thought is mortifying, but I can't tell her the real reason of my visit - that I fleetingly thought she might be a criminal.

I quickly search my mind for possible topics, eager to change the direction of our conversation.

"Did you finish school yet?"

Tori answers right away, seeming to appreciate the effort.

"Yes, I graduated this year. Right now, I'm a communications intern for Seattle Children's Hospital. The pay is nonexistent, but I wanted the experience."

"I'm glad. Well, not about the pay, but...you know what I mean."

She grins at my fumbling. "I know what you mean."

The silence lingers for a moment too long, serving as a testament to my small talk skills. She continues anyway.

"I hear your business is doing well."

"We just acquired a major tech company," I offer, trying to sound enthused.

"That's great."

I don't reply, having used up all my positivity.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"How are _you_ doing?" she asks gently, her smile faded. "I heard about what happened. I'm sorry she left." The last part is barely audible.

I accept her sympathy, raising up my shoulders in a pathetic half-shrug.

Maybe I should be offended by her assumption, but I'm not. After the way I treated her - the worst of which I probably don't even remember - I can't blame her for thinking Isabella ran.

After this failure of an investigative visit, I definitely agree with her.

"I should probably go," I say quietly, deserving an odd look. We've barely spoken at all, but I can't stay. Not now, when there's no chance of finding Isabella here.

She gives me an apologetic expression instead of a glare, getting up to show me out.

My eyes don't snoop around when we walk back to foyer, choosing to focus on my feet.

I avoid her scattered shoes as we approach the door. She opens it, leaving enough room for me to fit through.

"I'm sorry for dropping by like this," I murmur truthfully, embarrassed.

I feel ridiculous that I even suspected Tori. She was a bit clingy, sure, but never malicious.

My instincts led me here, but they were obviously wrong.

"Sorry for everything, actually," I add somberly, with more regret.

I try to manage a smile, but it doesn't work out very well.

Tori's attempt isn't much better.

"Not everything works out," she says in conclusion. Her previous nonchalance is there, but she's clearly hanging onto it with desperate fingers.

I nod in agreement, understanding that far too well. If I ever decide to write down my life story, that'd make a very apt title.

Tori pauses, appearing unsure of whether she should say more. After waiting for a moment, I turn away, thinking that she decided against it. My embarrassment hasn't faded any, and I'm in a hurry to leave.

I've just stepped onto the walkway when she reaches for my arm, gently imploring me to turn around. I jump slightly at the unexpected contact, glancing at her questioningly.

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for an unknown feat.

I glance down at her hand with unease. While it's no longer touching my skin, it's sort of hovering there. Resisting the contact...resisting past habits.

Her hand drops down before I can react further, and it clings to the other for support. She sighs, ruining the effect of her big gulp of air.

I fight back my impatience and anxiety, wanting to at least offer her closure. This may be the last time I ever see her, even if it's through no conscious decision of my own.

Despite my good intentions, I still find myself searching for a distraction. I instinctively step on the smudges of potting soil, smearing them. The dirt resembles broken charcoal against the stones.

I'm about to start drawing unidentifiable pictures when she speaks, drawing my focus back to her face. The words are soft yet determined, as if she's wanted to say them for a long time.

"You're not a bad person, Edward."

Her blue eyes are bright and relentless as they try to convince me of something I've never been sure of.

"I'll always believe that...even if you never loved me."

* * *

**A/N:**

Tori is mentioned in the 2008 moment if you'd like to reread it.

...

Edward and Emmett at bar - August 20, 2008 (Chapter 18)

Meet at diner - November 22, 2009 (Chapter 2)

First date - December 6, 2009 (Chapter 3 and 18)

Edward visits Emmett in Forks - December 18, 2009 (Chapter 18)

Edward sleeps at Bella's for the first time - December 18, 2009 (Chapter 13)

Cockblocked by Benny - January 16, 2010 (Chapter 6)

Bella tells Edward that she loves him...when he's asleep - January 30, 2010 (Chapter 8)

Bella cries after burning surprise breakfast - February 14, 2010 (Chapter 10)

Talk about God / forever - February 21, 2010 (Chapter 18)

Humorous handjob and "Marry me first" thought - March 7, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Proposal jitters - March 26, 2010 (Chapter 21)

**Talk about past relationships - April 4, 2010 (Chapter 24)**

Ice cream run in Forks / Talk about Edward's family - April 4, 2010 (Chapter 20)

Rose and Bella's conversation before shopping for wedding dress - April 9, 2010 (Chapter 21)

Packing up Bella's things in Forks / Bella's family photo - April 10, 2010 (Chapter 7)

Pick out house - April 15, 2010 (Chapter 9)

Prenup discussed after a night out - April 17, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Marry - April 30, 2010 (Chapter 18)

Arrive at Nice, France for honeymoon - May 1, 2010 (Chapter 15)

Delayed "wedding night" - May 2, 2010 (Chapter 19)

Honeymoon moment in Sospel - May 4, 2010 (Chapter 7)

Honeymoon beach makeout - May 5, 2010 (Chapter 15)

Bella's drunken moment in Nice - May 7, 2010 (Chapter 19)

Bella's hangover moment in Nice - May 8, 2010 (Chapter 23)

French lesson in Nice - May 12, 2010 (Chapter 20)

Amusement park (back in Washington) - May 22, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Edward takes a photo of Bella - May 23, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Dandelion wishes - May 23, 2010 (Chapter 12)

Edward's lunch break with Alec and Heidi - May 27, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Bella tells Sue about 365 project - May 28, 2010 (Chapter 8)

Bella's lonely phone call to Jessica - May 28, 2010 (Chapter 12)

Bella stays home instead of going to club - May 29, 2010 (Chapter 14)

Edward misses gallery date - June 11, 2010 (Chapter 10)

Bella pretends to be asleep - June 12, 2010 (Chapter 14)

Edward's birthday party - June 20, 2010 (Chapter 13)

Edward plans carnival date - July 7, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Breakup - July 12, 2010 (Chapter 17 and 18)

Meet with lawyers - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 1)

Last time Edward saw Bella - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Bella about to leave home - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 20)

Bella pulls over - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 22)

Bella wakes up - July 18, 2010 (Chapter 23)

Edward comes home - July 18, 2010 (Chapter 23)

Edward sees newscast - July 20, 2010 (Chapter 1)

Edward is interviewed by Mike - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 3)

Edward hires Marcus to investigate - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Edward messes with Mike - July 24, 2010 (Chapter 5)

Edward finds Benny in bedroom and breaks down - July 24, 2010 (Chapter 6 and 7)

Sue tells off Edward - July 26, 2010 (Chapter 9)

Edward finds 365 project - July 27, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Edward meets with Rosalie - July 28, 2010 (Chapter 12 and 14)

Edward's meeting with employees - July 29, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Edward at bar - July 29, 2010 (Chapter 18 and 19)

Edward gets ready to stay with Marcus - July 29, 2010 (Chapter 21)

Edward and Marcus talk in guest room - July 30, 2010 (Chapter 22)

**Edward visits Tori - July 31, 2010 (Chapter 24)**


	25. Chapter 25

_._

* * *

**"... Not that Charlie was ever brutal. He just did brutal things."**

- Jedediah

* * *

**July 18, 2010**

_**Bella**_

"I'm not a bad person," my abductor says as he opens the kitchen cupboard, pulling out a can of something unidentifiable.

Since I'm still rooted to my spot at the table, I can only catch glimpses of the shelved contents by looking over his shoulder.

Hiding my bewilderment is impossible as he takes out can after can, stacking them on the counter. It looks like he's making a miniature fortress out of peas and corn.

I really hope those aren't as old as the Y2K scare.

We both remain silent while he unloads a dozen more, checking the seemingly off-brand labels. Making the aluminum wall even taller.

"You were just..._there_," he mutters before spinning on his heel, giving me a clear view of his troubled expression. The sudden movement makes me flinch.

"I couldn't _not _take you. I mean, _what are the chances_?"

Anxiety is clear in his voice, as if he hopes I'll forgive him for this tiny lapse in judgment.

Despite my horrified curiosity, I don't reply. Yelling "fuck you" doesn't seem very prudent, considering the likely cause of my injured head. And I have more important things to say when my voice finally decides to start working.

Things that will get me out of here. I hope.

He brushes bothersome hair away from his eyes as he waits for my response, proving that he's badly in need of a haircut. The innocent gesture makes him seem very boyish, but judging by the rest of him, he can't be any younger than Edward.

After realizing I won't reply, he returns to his task, appearing content to mumble to himself instead. I go back to my own thoughts, trying to block out the disturbing background noise.

While it's troubling that I don't remember how I got here, I'm more focused on the_ why_.

He must want a ransom. That has to be the reason why he brought me here. He didn't choose the easy option of only running off with my keys. He recognized me.

But Edward is kind; he'll pay it. It doesn't matter that we're not together anymore. He could never leave me here, knowing I'm in danger.

I take in a deep breath, letting a small amount of relief wash through me. This doesn't have to end in disaster.

Everything will be fine.

Well, not everything. But _I'll _be okay. Eventually.

Maybe.

My eyes look back up, focusing on the source of all the clinking. They widen once they see that the counter is completely covered.

The man is still mumbling too quietly for me to make out the words.

_This is insane._

He must be insane. That's the only explanation.

I wonder how long this particular chore will take. The sound of metal against metal is making my headache even worse, but I doubt he cares. He definitely doesn't care about the stiff position he put me in.

I sigh inaudibly as I try to make my back more comfortable. I squirm against my seat, scooting my body as much as possible. I'll probably have to stay on this chair for a while longer.

_Not too long..._

I close my eyes in concentration, willing the words to be true.

It's hard to think positively, but I have to believe that I'll be able to leave this house soon enough.

I just have to wait.

* * *

**July 31, 2010**

_**Edward**_

"Please don't look at me like that," I beg.

Alec and Heidi stare back at me from across the desk, taking a moment for the words to register.

While their bodies are sitting professionally still, their faces are betraying them. Nervousness, pity and disbelief are the most visible. And underneath all of that, there are varying amounts of _"Do we really have to do this on a Saturday?"_

Both lower their heads at the unintentional chastisement, trying to modify their expressions.

"I know I fired a lot of people when I was more...volatile. But I won't get mad if you point out how much of a jerk I was. I promise."

"Are you sure we need to..." Heidi trails off, quickly realizing her mistake. Alec stares at her with shock, but she isn't looking at him.

I stifle my sigh.

_Yes, I know you think she left__ me__. Thank you for the reminder._

For a short second, I consider only having Alec help, but Heidi's already here. And she might remember someone we don't. So I continue with my explanation, pretending that I didn't hear the disheartening question. Snapping at her wouldn't be any better, and I don't have the desire or energy to do that.

"Marcus wants me to check all the names he hasn't looked into, but I don't remember every person. Or I don't remember anything suspicious about them. I just need you to to look these over and see if you do."

I hand them their papers before motioning to my desk.

"I'm going to go through their ID photos and reasons for termination on the computer - and I'd like you to look as well - but I'm hoping we can flag some names right away. That way, we can look up the urgent ones first."

"So you're looking for people who might still have a grudge," Alec concludes, resigned to the task. I'm relieved by his quick compliance.

"Yes. You two have always worked closely with me, so I thought you might know."

The stress of everything is making me sound so formal.

After receiving a few slight nods, I look down at my print-outs, getting to work. Despite their reluctance, I'm glad they're willing to do this. I'm obviously not making much progress on my own.

Heidi flips through her stapled pages experimentally before starting, but Alec doesn't deviate from the first page until he's done reading.

A minute or two pass, the only sounds coming from turned pages, scribbling and highlighting.

Heidi is the first to speak.

"Who's Kim Cameron?" she asks, sounding more curious than alarmed.

"Cat lady," Alec mumbles, unconcerned.

"Oh yeah."

I nod absentmindedly. It's strange that this short-term employee is one I remember clearly, but a meowing purse tends to stick in your mind. Especially when you're allergic to it.

"I think it was sick," Heidi sympathizes. She's a cat person.

I don't offer anything, remaining unwilling to feel bad about that one.

Both employees wordlessly continue their assignment, having never looked up to begin with. I spin my pen between my fingers as I proceed down the list, resisting the urge to break up the silence with an obnoxious tapping noise.

This may take a while.

* * *

**A/N:**

Rosebud is now a "Fic of the Week" over at The Lemonade Stand, which makes me very excited. Thanks to everyone who voted! Also, thanks to Jaime Arkin for the rec, and to KitKat and texasbella for writing the review.

What The Fun prereads, laughs at my jokes _and_ indulges my Writer's OCD. She's an angel.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time.

xoxo


	26. Chapter 26

_._

* * *

**"****He never gave himself away. He never gave **_**anything**_** away. He just...left you a tip.****"**

- Jedediah

* * *

**June 11, 2010**

_**Bella **_

I carefully twist my hair into an updo, leaving a few strands to frame my face.

Once I'm satisfied with the loose curls, I start to dig through my makeup collection. Since my routine is so simple, it doesn't take long to apply the fistful of cosmetics.

Foundation, eye shadow, powder, mascara...

I'm still hopeless with eyeliner. And my natural blush is embarrassingly adequate.

I put on lipstick instead of lip gloss, even though it doesn't feel right.

Stepping back, I examine my handiwork. Blank, brown eyes stare back at me in the mirror, taking in my foreign appearance.

The color on my lips is beautiful, but noticing the discomfort makes me feel like less of a grown-up...like I'm just raiding my mother's makeup bag.

The comparison is sobering.

My finger hovers over my mouth, poised to mar the pigment.

Maybe I should remove it. Maybe other people will see through my act. But even if I don't feel mature and distinguished, I at least want to _look_ the part.

The threatening finger drops, foiled by my newest reasoning.

It doesn't matter if I'm slightly uncomfortable; I just need to look acceptable for Edward's sake.

I take deep breaths as I return my makeup to its drawer, the action taking longer than it should.

My entire body feels heavier. And on top of that, I'm now annoyed that I'm letting a silly thing like lipstick dampen my excitement.

This is supposed to be a fun night. I get to share this with Edward, and the show will hopefully inspire some ideas for my own project.

I know he will think I look beautiful, and that's all that should matter. But I can't forget the snide looks and comments I received during our engagement. Even if Edward said most of the criticizers were practically strangers...

My gaze absentmindedly moves to the counter. The clock mocks me with its brightly displayed time.

It's almost time to go. _I can't think about this right now._

Determined to clear my mind, I turn away from the bathroom, heading for our closet.

Edward will be home soon. I need to find my shoes.

* * *

**July 20, 2010**

_**Bella**_

"Can I ask you something?" my abductor says, tossing our empty tuna cans into the trash.

It's a stupid question. He's going to ask, regardless. And if he really wanted to, he could probably force me to answer.

Even so, I nod.

He sits back down at the seat across from me, looking solely at my expression.

I carelessly run my fingers over the tabletop, decorating my glossy nails with tiny scratches. Throughout this unremarkable display, his eyes remain alight with genuine curiosity.

"Why were you crying when I found you?"

I blink at the invasiveness, wondering why he'd even care. With torn hesitation, I finally decide to say nothing. Even if he gets angry, I can't let him know that I'm not exactly prime hostage material.

If he finds out, he might get rid of me. So I shouldn't throw off his plan...if he even has a plan.

Maybe he's waiting a few days to contact Edward in order to give him time to worry. I don't know. _I don't even watch stupid crime shows..._

I tilt my head up, meeting his stare again.

His face is expectant, waiting for an answer that will never come. The determined gaze feels like tiny caterpillars crawling across my skin, but I don't bite. I lack the energy needed to make up a story.

Without counting my unexplained head injury, he hasn't been violent so far. I just have to hope this doesn't change.

I struggle to remain brave as our impromptu staring contest continues. But as my rebellious silence drags on, his innocent curiosity starts to be overshadowed by something darker, more predatory.

An instinct to prey on the weak.

"You and the husband have a fight?" he goads, almost smiling. "Let me guess - about who does the dishes when the maid is out?"

Despite the malicious intent, his sarcasm isn't what's painful. It's the fact that the term "husband" has an expiration date.

I shrug my shoulders, not wanting him to know that his words stung. Regardless of his insistence, it doesn't seem like he even cares about the answer. He just wants to hurt me.

"It was nothing. I just cry a lot."

I frown, feeling a little disgusted when I realize the last part of my answer isn't a lie.

_I wasn't always like this._

He gives me a pitying look, and it doesn't even seem cruel.

"Cullen's a jerk. I'm not surprised."

My eyes narrow instinctively. While I've assumed that Edward's money must be involved, this is the first time he's been mentioned in conversation. I don't like it.

"He's not a jerk," I defend, not bothering to hide my anger. It's infuriating to hear him be called that by such a lowlife.

"Actually, he is," he corrects casually, not sounding surprised by my indignation. "Endless women, drinking in totally inappropriate places, trying to buy everything and _everyone_..."

He wordlessly waves his hand at me, not needing to explain the gesture.

"He didn't _buy me_. I love him." My throat tightens against my will, barely getting the words out. He isn't the first person to bring this up, but it's a lot harder to defend our relationship now that it's ending.

I falter for a moment, his other words suddenly coming back to mind. The fact that he mentioned drinking is even more jarring than the "endless women." That makes no sense. Plus, how would he even know about it?

"And Edward hardly ever drinks. I don't know what you're talking about." Even as I glare at him, my voice is unsteady.

He shakes his head, his pity increasing dramatically.

"I never said you didn't love him. That's why I feel so sorry for you."

I freeze up as his admittance sinks in, not knowing what to make of it. My unease only increases as gray eyes follow me closely, examining every facet of my response.

For a few seconds, I worry that he knows we're no longer together. But when I think of his earlier words, he seems clueless. _Unless he's just messing with me..._

His sighed empathy disrupts my frantic thoughts.

"But I guess it was never really a choice, was it?"

I don't reply, but this doesn't seem to bother him. With one last glance at my restraints, he walks away, having answered his own question.

* * *

**A/N:**

Thanks to What The Fun and to everyone who reviewed. Also, special thanks to ViolaOphelia. Her New Moon AU, _Whatever is Left of Me_, is on my favorites list. Check it out if you're craving some great angst.

xoxo


	27. Chapter 27

_._

* * *

**"You really like me, though. Even though you don't know who I am."**

**"Oh, I surely do. You've been wonderful."**

**"I'm glad you do."**

- Kane & Susan

* * *

**December 12, 2009**

_**Bella**_

I walk faster, trying to catch up. Half of Forks' inhabitants seem to be on the bustling, closed-off street.

Even though I'm in a hurry, I can't help but appreciate the holiday decorations around me.

White balloons and silver garlands glimmer under bright street lamps. In the dark spaces separating the old-fashioned beacons, tea lights sprinkle the wide walkway with enough light.

I take in a deep breath of winter air, suddenly feeling a lot more festive. Instead of meeting their tacky potential, the annual decorations always let me imagine I'm in a snow globe.

_Well...maybe a snowless snow globe._

The playful tenor of my thoughts shifts as I reach Edward, a more serious feeling taking hold. While I'm now used to the strange fluttering in my stomach, he's still a little intimidating.

His friendly face soothes some of my nerves.

"Did you see the roasting chestnuts?" he asks, clearly unable to hold in his excitement.

I nod, having to smile at his awed expression. While his cocky assurance is what drew me in, this sweet man I met on our first date is much more endearing.

"I'm surprised you haven't been to the festival before. How long has your brother lived here?"

"A few years, but I haven't come to Forks very often."

I stop fussing with my gloves, wanting to give his explanation my full attention.

Quiet conversations buzz around us, but he doesn't offer any more information. His bright eyes have dimmed slightly, making me feel a little guilty, but I reluctantly let the subject go. I don't know him well enough to pry.

As if just now remembering what he's holding, Edward looks down at his hands, seeming happy to have a diversion. He holds up the two sticks of cotton candy, politely offering me first choice.

"I like both flavors, so I bought one of each. Would you like blue or pink?"

I glance between the colors experimentally, unable to decide. My thoughts are still a little muddled by the topic change.

"I don't know," I finally concede. "You pick for me."

"Okay...pink."

My eyes automatically dart to his other hand, the alternate option looking far too tempting.

"I think I'd rather have the blue. Thanks."

Offering a thankful smile, I take the sugar-covered stick before turning back to the path.

I take a big bite of blue fluff as I take a few steps, thinking of where to go next. Mr. Weber's holiday decorations sound good. But when I start to ask Edward for his opinion, I realize that he isn't following me.

I turn around, spotting him in the same place as before. He almost looks like a statue, standing there next to the rows of hot chocolate.

The sweetness on my tongue dissolves, leaving room for harsher realities.

Did I scare him off so quickly?

I'm in the middle of reviewing my actions when he snaps out of his daze, easily catching up to me. He searches my face, probably trying to determine if I'm joking.

"What...Why did you ask if you didn't listen anyway?"

"I did listen. I just did the opposite."

He frowns at my poor choice of words, and I hurry to explain my logic.

"If I can't decide something, sometimes I just ask someone else to choose. Then if I feel disappointed with the result, I know that it's the wrong choice."

I shrug at the simplicity of my often-used trick. I fleetingly hope my reasoning didn't sound too weird, but it probably did. Normalcy has never been my strong suit.

To my relief, Edward doesn't seem hurt or offended. He's not even giving me odd looks.

Well, his expression is a little odd. _Indulgent _is the best way to describe it. Like I just said something adorable.

But I don't want to be adorable. That's a word for puppies and kittens - not potential love interests.

Uninterrupted by my newest debacle, faceless neighbors swiftly sidestep us, making their way to the next attraction. A little girl laughs as she runs past our stilled bodies, making our silence all the more noticeable.

Edward is probably expecting me to elaborate, but my mouth is glued shut, determined to save itself from more blame.

I stare intently at my shoes, frustrated and embarrassed by my frequent bumbling. _Will I ever be able to get past this awkwardness? _Being unable to say what I feel, ruining potential moments...

A light hand suddenly settles against my waist, steadying my nervous thoughts. Even through my coat, I can feel each finger mold to me, sending sparks to my skin.

My gaze quickly moves from the hand, to the sleeve, to his shoulder. To those eyes that always see too much of me.

Then Edward is less than a foot away. Looking at my mouth with a determined expression, pulling me closer...

I know what's happening, but my question is still alarmed.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to kiss you." He makes no apologies.

I quickly glance at the surrounding crowd.

"But people are watching."

"I don't care."

His gaze never leaves my face. I'm not fooling anyone; we both know the crowd isn't causing the majority of my anxiety.

He gently brushes my cheek with his thumb, as if promising he will be careful with me. Sharing his need to try this out - try _us_ out.

All the while, giving me ample time to flee.

I lean into his palm, agreeing with actions instead of words. This isn't anything like the scenario I imagined as I stayed up late this week, dreaming up images of tonight.

But there can be no dodging this time, no running. It wouldn't be fair. Not now, before he knows that I want him to chase me.

Before I can second-guess this, Edward easily erases the gap between us. From there, everything happens so fast.

Two hands on my face instead of one.

A last intake of breath, then none at all.

Lips not as soft as mine, but way more confident. Not nearly polite.

My earlier reluctance dissolves into nothing as my fingers weave through his hair, trying to pull him closer. Not wanting to let him leave.

I don't care that the air is cold, or that a dozen of Forks' residents will be talking about us over their coffee tomorrow morning. The thought of this moment ending is painful.

As if sharing my thought, Edward moves one hand to my waist, his fingers flexing in search of something unattainable.

The strong blend of confidence, vulnerability and eagerness is addicting.

My head is getting lighter and lighter, but the delightfully fuzzy feeling isn't enough to make me stop. I've never had anyone kiss me like this before...like he has a right to. Like he needs to.

My hold on his hair tightens, blindly asking for the abstract concept of _more_.

He teases my bottom lip in response, and I start to wish we could stay here forever...an embracing, snow-covered fixture in the center of town. An unchanging testament.

Instead - much to my disappointment - his mouth steadily slows, becoming more gentle. Resembling the start of an embrace instead of the end of one.

He withdraws until all that's left is a lingering brush of lips, all shy and soft and everyday-normal. The kind of kiss a girl could receive every morning and every night, yet never grow tired of it.

I want to be that girl._ His... _

And that realization means so much more than any brief moment of contact.

As his lips leave mine, the solemn loss of warmth spreads throughout my entire body. Almost immediately, the chill is overpowered by the in-the-clouds feeling that has become so familiar. The sudden dichotomy is jarring.

I open my eyes, needing to see something real.

His face is still so close. It's probably time to lean back, but I'm reluctant to leave our little cocoon. Edward wears a playful smile as he keeps his arms around me.

"We'll probably make the paper, you know." It's more of a joke than a warning, but barely.

Still starry-eyed, I glance at the pastel candy near our feet, just now realizing that I'm clutching a handful of his jacket instead. I can't make myself release it.

My embarrassment isn't as inevitable as I thought.

Resting my head against his chest, I'm only able to feel content acceptance bubbling up inside me.

"That's okay."

* * *

**July 21, 2010**

_**Bella**_

I instinctively burrow further under my blanket, fruitlessly chasing the last remnants of my dream.

It only takes a moment to determine where I am, but much longer to accept the answer.

Immediately, my bound hands clumsily push away the patchwork quilt, wanting nothing to do with it.

The small comfort has been ruined by the reality of my situation. A less logical part of my mind even wants to call it an accomplice to the crime.

I look around the dimly lit room, finding little to focus on.

Anything remotely dangerous has been removed, giving it the feel of a toddler's room, but the twin bed is comfortable enough. The quilt even seems homemade, though it's slightly musty.

_No one has lived here for a long time._

Not just in this room, but in the whole house. This was clear as he surveyed the kitchen contents.

I struggle to quell the panic growing in my chest, the fear of being completely unreachable. My eyes close defensively, refusing to let the pleasant memory escape my mind.

Or maybe it's an _un_pleasant memory now. I can't tell anymore, but it doesn't matter.

Even though my dream was cut short, I get the strange sense that it's still playing without me, like a movie reel.

Not wanting to miss another second, I force myself to imagine craft stands and winter gloves, snowless nights and abandoned cotton candy.

After a few minutes, this takes no effort at all.

* * *

**A/N:**

Thanks to What The Fun for prereading and to everyone reading and reviewing. The updated timeline is below.

...

Edward and Emmett at bar - August 20, 2008 (Chapter 18)

Meet at diner - November 22, 2009 (Chapter 2)

First date - December 6, 2009 (Chapter 3 and 18)

**Second date at Forks winter festival - December 12, 2009 (Chapter 27)**

Edward visits Emmett in Forks - December 18, 2009 (Chapter 18)

Edward sleeps at Bella's for the first time - December 18, 2009 (Chapter 13)

Cockblocked by Benny - January 16, 2010 (Chapter 6)

Bella tells Edward that she loves him...when he's asleep - January 30, 2010 (Chapter 8)

Bella cries after burning surprise breakfast - February 14, 2010 (Chapter 10)

Talk about God / forever - February 21, 2010 (Chapter 18)

Humorous handjob and "Marry me first" thought - March 7, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Proposal jitters - March 26, 2010 (Chapter 21)

Talk about past relationships - April 4, 2010 (Chapter 24)

Ice cream run in Forks / Talk about Edward's family - April 4, 2010 (Chapter 20)

Rose and Bella's conversation before shopping for wedding dress - April 9, 2010 (Chapter 21)

Packing up Bella's things in Forks / Bella's family photo - April 10, 2010 (Chapter 7)

Pick out house - April 15, 2010 (Chapter 9)

Prenup discussed after a night out - April 17, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Marry - April 30, 2010 (Chapter 18)

Arrive at Nice, France for honeymoon - May 1, 2010 (Chapter 15)

Delayed "wedding night" - May 2, 2010 (Chapter 19)

Honeymoon moment in Sospel - May 4, 2010 (Chapter 7)

Honeymoon beach makeout - May 5, 2010 (Chapter 15)

Bella's drunken moment in Nice - May 7, 2010 (Chapter 19)

Bella's hangover moment in Nice - May 8, 2010 (Chapter 23)

French lesson in Nice - May 12, 2010 (Chapter 20)

Amusement park (back in Washington) - May 22, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Edward takes a photo of Bella - May 23, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Dandelion wishes - May 23, 2010 (Chapter 12)

Edward's lunch break with Alec and Heidi - May 27, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Bella tells Sue about 365 project - May 28, 2010 (Chapter 8)

Bella's lonely phone call to Jessica - May 28, 2010 (Chapter 12)

Bella stays home instead of going to club - May 29, 2010 (Chapter 14)

Bella gets ready for gallery - June 11, 2010 (Chapter 26)

Edward misses gallery date - June 11, 2010 (Chapter 10)

Bella pretends to be asleep - June 12, 2010 (Chapter 14)

Edward's birthday party - June 20, 2010 (Chapter 13)

Edward plans carnival date - July 7, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Breakup - July 12, 2010 (Chapter 17 and 18)

Meet with lawyers - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 1)

Last time Edward saw Bella - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Bella about to leave home - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 20)

Bella pulls over - July 17, 2010 (Chapter 22)

Bella wakes up - July 18, 2010 (Chapter 23)

Edward comes home - July 18, 2010 (Chapter 23)

Man unloads cabinet - July 18, 2010 (Chapter 25)

Man references / insults Edward - July 20, 2010 (Chapter 26)

Edward sees newscast - July 20, 2010 (Chapter 1)

**Bella wakes up after dreaming of winter festival / first kiss - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 27)**

Edward is interviewed by Mike - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 3)

Edward hires Marcus to investigate - July 21, 2010 (Chapter 4)

Edward messes with Mike - July 24, 2010 (Chapter 5)

Edward finds Benny in bedroom and breaks down - July 24, 2010 (Chapter 6 and 7)

Sue tells off Edward - July 26, 2010 (Chapter 9)

Edward finds 365 project - July 27, 2010 (Chapter 11)

Edward meets with Rosalie - July 28, 2010 (Chapter 12 and 14)

Edward's meeting with employees - July 29, 2010 (Chapter 16)

Edward at bar - July 29, 2010 (Chapter 18 and 19)

Edward gets ready to stay with Marcus - July 29, 2010 (Chapter 21)

Edward and Marcus talk in guest room - July 30, 2010 (Chapter 22)

Edward visits Tori - July 31, 2010 (Chapter 24)

Edward asks Heidi and Alec to look at employee list - July 31, 2010 (Chapter 25)


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N:**

Big thanks to What The Fun and ViolaOphelia for helping with this chapter. A link to the updated timeline is on my profile (Chapt. 28 Outline).

Sorry that I've been MIA. I'm definitely finishing the story - it's just taking longer than I planned.

Last time we saw Edward in Chapter 25, he was going through the list of fired employees with Alec and Heidi. This moment picks up from there.

* * *

**"Get in touch with everybody that ever worked for him, whoever loved him, whoever...hated his guts. I don't mean go through the city directory, of course."**

- Rawlston

* * *

**July 31, 2010**

_**Edward**_

"Do you think we found any leads here?" Alec asks, drawing my attention away from Heidi's retreating form.

His hand rubs the dark, thinning hair near his forehead, showing his genuine investment in the answer.

My reply comes out flatter than I try for.

"I don't know."

None of these people really stand out, but it's possible. Nearly _every_ theory is possible. That's the problem.

I slide my packet toward the edge of the desk, setting my elbows where the papers used to be. My hands support my forehead, holding hair away from my face.

Even though this tried-and-true posture should calm me down, I still worry about how quickly these employees will be checked out. Marcus isn't even home tonight; he's working on another case.

Not to mention that his recent encouragement might be a hoax - a way to keep me from completely losing it. Before the bar incident, he didn't seem too hopeful about finding Isabella. He's probably just worried about me.

I appreciate everything Marcus has done, but no matter what, it's time to seek additional help. I should have done that a long time ago.

It was wrong and selfish, but part of me must have been afraid of finding Isabella safely hidden and happy, perfectly content to be away from me. I didn't know how to approach my mistakes. I didn't know how to win her back.

I'm ready now. I just need to find her...even if she doesn't want anything to do with me.

Looking up, I realize that Alec is still in his seat, witnessing my reverie.

"Sorry," I apologize instinctively, confused and slightly embarrassed. "You can leave whenever you want. We've done all we can for now."

Honestly, I expected him to bolt as quickly as Heidi did.

"I know," he assures, not moving an inch.

At a loss of what to say, I hesitantly pick up Heidi's packet, starting to read the notes in the margins. A harsh breath escapes as I flip through the list, each name a fresh accusation.

Considering the number of people I've screwed over, maybe I deserve what's happening to me.

I return the papers to my desk with a little more strength than necessary, creating an unsatisfying _slap_. Alec startles at the sound, and I have the sudden need to talk. To explain.

"You know, I've never really believed in karma..." _Before now_.

Alec nods, hearing my unspoken words. His posture is stoic, but his entwined hands betray his unaffected facade.

"Me neither. Though sometimes, I think it's just confused with something else...like a more scientific cause and effect."

His eyes never deviate from mine, the contact delivering a specific, unknown message.

Despite our previous topic, I'm fairly certain that he's not referring to how I've created dozens of suspects with my callousness. He's talking about a much more devastating failure.

The question is hard to get out.

"Do you think I'm wasting my time, too?"

Like Heidi, maybe he thinks Isabella doesn't want to be found. That even if I track her down, it will be too late to fix anything.

Hearing this from Alec would be infinitely worse.

I've always considered him to be a role model of sorts, for both professionalism and family life. Even though he's only about fifteen years older than me, he has a lot of maturity to show for it.

Alec's hands still and separate, moving to rest on either side of his lap.

"No," he says resolutely, shaking his head. Even if it's just a well-demonstrated lie, I'm thankful.

"Even if you don't find what you're looking for, it never hurts to take inventory."

If not for his compassionate expression, I'd think he was talking about business instead of soul searching.

I manage a small smile in reply. While his encouragement wasn't very cheery, it was definitely genuine.

He finally stands, ready to leave.

"Thanks, Alec."

"No problem."

He moves to hand me his packet, and I set it on top of the others.

When he remains in front of the desk for a moment too long, I briefly worry that he has an uncharacteristic desire to hug.

Instead, I'm puzzled by the scrap of paper he sets in front of me. Scrawled across it is a single, familiar name.

I glance up for an explanation. Alec shrugs, curtailing any possible excitement.

"You should try your old assistant, Amy. I know she left on good terms, but she might be able to point out some more possibilities."

I nod and tuck it in my wallet, unsure of whether I actually will. With so many faint connections in Seattle, it's impossible to go after each one.

A frisson of guilt hits me before I can even close the tri-fold, as I realize how flippant I'm being.

_What's one more interview?_

"And Edward?"

Alec hovers by the door, seeming relieved by my immediate attention. His surprise worries me. _Do I usually zone out for longer?_

"Yes?"

"I'm taking you to dinner tonight," he announces pleasantly, not allowing any argument.

My lips twitch at his unexpected boldness. Maybe we're good friends after all.

"Okay."

"Okay?" he echoes, bemused by my easy compliance.

When I don't contradict him, a smile replaces the confusion on his face.

"Okay, then," he confirms quickly, backing out of the room before I can change my mind.

* * *

**July 23, 2010**

_**Bella**_

I curl up on a worn arm chair near the window as twilight approaches, trying to enjoy what little freedom I have. My ankles have silly, make-shift shackles on them, but I can at least walk around now. Slowly.

I absently note the soft sounds of wooden figurines being set up as I gaze through the glass, finding a peaceful yet discouraging view.

All I can see is green.

"Do you want to play?"

I glance at the chess board's owner with disbelief.

_What are we, friends now?_

"I'm sure you've noticed we don't have much in the way of entertainment," he points out, gesturing to the open layout of the common area. "The previous owners believed that evil came in through the cables, so that ruled out television. If we could even get a connection out here."

My forehead creases as unease makes its way into my stomach. _Previous owners?_

His tone is too bitter to be talking about strangers.

I bite the inside of my lip, trying to find a polite way to decline his invitation. I'm really not interested in playing anything with him.

But he might untie my hands for a bit, and that'd be such a nice change...

Greedy for any sense of normalcy, I get up from my chair, making my way over to the table.

I almost turn back once I get there, but I manage to lift my hands instead, needing to try.

"It might be kind of hard with this," I barter, reluctantly putting my wrists within his reach.

Despite my ulterior motives, this is true. I'd easily knock off all the pieces.

He studies me for an uncomfortable amount of time, letting me feel how dependent I am. I have to keep from squirming, not liking my vulnerable position at all.

Finally, he takes my offered hands in his, wasting no more time as he starts to unwind the fabric.

When he's finished, he holds on for a few extra seconds, his disconcertingly warm grip a clear warning to behave. I pull my arms back as soon as he lets go, feeling unsure of my decision.

Now would be the time to bust out some awesome self-defense moves, if I knew any.

Sure, I've heard little hints like, "_Break the nose with the heel of your hand_," or, "_Shove your finger through the_ -"

I wince at the thought.

But these small tidbits add up to very little when you're surrounded by trees, with no one around to save you if you temporarily "get away."

My dad always wanted me to get more extensive training, but I told him I'd wait until I could earn college credit for my effort. Of course, that never happened. I'd been about to start community college when he died. I could barely function that winter, let alone study.

My abductor clears his throat impatiently, oblivious to my rebellious musings. Or maybe not.

"Do you want to play?" he repeats, frowning.

"I don't even know your name," I protest, as if this prevents me from playing a board game.

This suddenly feels too much like playing badminton with the devil.

"Come on," he scolds mildly, his tone the equivalent of an eye roll. "You've seen this movie enough times to know I can't give you that."

After some internal coaxing, I loosen my grip on the table's edge, warily sitting down in one of the wooden chairs. _Building trust can't be a bad thing, right?_

He visibly relaxes once I'm no longer standing over him. Knowing that he was nervous gives me a small amount of satisfaction.

"Well, what am I supposed to call you?" I ask, resigned to more interaction. My current nicknames are rather limited.

He twists his mouth, considering his options.

"Master... Almighty One... _Zeus, _perhaps."

I stare back with wide eyes, having no idea how to respond to that.

"I'm kidding," he deadpans, his tone holding just as much humor as his joke.

I swallow my sigh, relieved yet not at all comforted.

_Just when I think he might be a tiny bit stable. Or sorry. Anything..._

"You can call me whatever name you want," he adds seriously, leaving out the sarcasm.

I nod, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. Now that I'm reminded of his unpredictable personality, what I call him doesn't seem so important anymore.

Needing a distraction, I motion to the chess board.

"So, I get to go first?"

"You know how to play?" he counters.

"Don't look so surprised."

A warm smile flashes across his face, disappearing just as quickly as it came.

In the name of despising him, I try to pretend I imagined it.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N:**

Thanks to What The Fun and ViolaOphelia for pre-reading, and to everyone who reviewed! This is another quote from the original screenplay, cut from the movie. You can read it online.

* * *

**"That's a poem. Do you know what it means?"**

**"No, I don't, Mr. Kane."**

**"I didn't used to be afraid of it."**

- Kane & Raymond

* * *

**February 27, 2010**

_**Bella**_

"You know that I love you, right?"

The dread caused by his assurance makes me look away, up toward the ceiling.

No good conversation ever included those words.

"I know." My voice sounds like it belongs to someone else.

"Then what are you so afraid of?"

_The end._

_Becoming my mother._

_Loving you so, so hard._

"I need you to talk to me, Edward says gently, taking my hand in his. "I need to know what makes you angry or sad or confused... How can I make you happy if I don't know how?"

His earnest concern makes my heart ache. Desperate for an escape from the growing pain, I study my ceiling with forced interest, finding a imperfect area to focus on.

Jess and I painted it years ago. The sky blue paint covered us more than it covered the drywall, but since we were only 15, we were so proud to have done it ourselves.

When I later noticed the white spots we missed, Jessica shrugged and called them clouds.

"What are you thinking right now?" Edward interrupts, disheartened yet still curious.

I shrug, embarrassed to be proving his point over something so trivial. But this conversation is so forced, now. And why should Edward care about my clouds?

He sighs, and the tired sound gives me a much-needed dose of compassion.

"I'm sorry. I know I should tell you things. It's just..."

My body is jostled slightly as Edward removes his weight from the bed. A foreign brand of panic grips me, and I sit up, having the sudden urge to beg him to stay. I've never begged anyone for anything.

The fingers of my right hand press together, already missing his warmth. He leans down to kiss my forehead, letting his lips linger against my skin.

"Isabella..."

My heart speeds at the familiar sound and feel of my full name, but there's a sad tint to it today.

"I think you should want to tell me these things."

Edward straightens, returning to his usual height. Then he turns and heads for the hall. I open my mouth in protest, but he's the only one to say something.

"I'll be back tomorrow."

My eyes sting when he walks through the doorway, not even waiting for a reply. Given my recent silence, I suppose I can't expect much else.

Several minutes pass before I hear the front door shut.

I hastily brush the escaped tears from my cheeks, hating the proof of my inability to communicate properly. Hoping against hope that Edward won't give up on me.

It's a good sign that he's not on his way to Seattle. But where will he sleep tonight? The inn? His brother's house?

The only clear truth is that I'm not invited.

With more than a little effort, I relax my hand, stopping my fingernails from digging into my palm.

I want to redo that entire conversation.

I should have told him that this isn't his fault. That I'm this closed-off with everyone sometimes, even Jessica and Angela. If the subject is scary or hurts badly enough.

But would that really have made him feel any better?

Reluctant to move yet needing a change of scenery, I clumsily climb off my bed. I trade my shorts for sweatpants before heading to the kitchen, feeling much colder than before.

When I get to the fridge - the supposed reason for going downstairs - it feels more like an afterthought. I half-heartedly grab a bottle of soda, just so the trip doesn't feel pointless.

I glance out the kitchen window as I unscrew the top, too aware of the car missing from my driveway. But now that the fridge is closed, I also notice something on the table.

I set down my drink before approaching cautiously, as if the piece of paper is a ticking time bomb. Or worse, a Dear John letter. But there aren't enough words on the paper for that. _Right?_

Unconvinced, my breathing remains unsteady as I reach for the note.

When I recognize the familiar, loved line, my heart isn't doing much better. Its beats are erratic, unable to decide between happiness and despair.

Hesitantly, my thumb runs over the words that my bookmark ballerina must have told.

_Springtime, and I wish I knew you._

* * *

**July 24, 2010**

_**Bella**_

"J," I announce, trying out the sound on my tongue.

It's a random outburst, with no pretext to speak of, but there's this new feeling of guilt creeping up on me. I need to drown it with something unimportant.

My abductor looks up from his book, unknowingly confirming my choice.

"What?" His questioning tone is brisk, and it overpowers my own by far.

"You look like a J."

Several expressions flicker across his face, each one changing before I can pinpoint all the differences. Even so, it's clear he's unhappy with the nickname.

I don't see why. It's not like he knows the J actually stands for Jerk.

"Like J-A-Y?" he clarifies.

"Uh huh," I lie, not wanting him to find out.

For whatever reason, this relaxes him.

"Okay. Whatever," he murmurs distractedly, once again focusing on _To Kill a Mockingbird_.

An odd choice in my opinion, but maybe he assumes the classic is a how-to guide.

I rest my hands in my lap, startling when I feel my stomach rumble slightly.

"J?" I repeat, having an actual question this time.

He sighs in exasperation.

"You know, I liked you better when you didn't talk."

I ignore the jab, somehow knowing that this isn't totally true.

"Do you mind if I make something in the kitchen?"

"Like what?" he asks, eyes still on his page.

"Shepherd's Pie."

J shrugs, trying to feign nonchalance, but his face shows his interest in real food. Plain tuna and canned vegetables get old fast, no matter who you are.

"You can look around the cupboards if you want. I think I saw some instant potatoes in there."

"Thanks," I say, somewhat surprised that he's letting me do this. Then again, he hasn't left any bottles of antifreeze lying around.

I stand up as that ugly thought sinks in, not wanting to answer the question of whether I would kill him if I could.

For now, I'll just enjoy the normalcy of poison-free cooking.

* * *

**A/N:**

Chapter 13 should help if you're confused by the first moment. The updated timeline is on my profile (Chapt. 29 Outline).

xoxo


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